


The Antecedents To Reunion

by nadiavandyne



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Banter, Case Fic, Court of Owls, DCU Big Bang 2020, F/F, Flirting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I PROMISE YOU DICK ISN'T DEAD, I REPEAT: NOT REALLY CHARACTER DEATH, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Really Character Death, POV Cassandra Cain, Pre-Relationship, Steampunk, hm alright what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27304201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadiavandyne/pseuds/nadiavandyne
Summary: Steampunk!AUCassandra Wayne comes back to Gotham under the cover of night, slipping back into the cogs and gears of the city as if she’d never left, as silent and unassuming of a presence as she ever has been.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain
Kudos: 24
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my DC steampunk AU, y'all! This is my work for the 2020 DCU Big Bang, and I am absolutely THRILLED to share it with all of you.
> 
> This fic has art that goes with it! This fic has REALLY COOL art that goes with it!!! The first piece was done by the wonderful [Cruria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruria), and you can see that piece right [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462199) The second piece was done by the amazing [gwenfrankenstien ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenfrankenstien), and you can check out that piece right [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568531)
> 
> Quick warning: There is absolutely no physics accuracy here. Listen, I'm writing mainly for the Star Wars fandom right now, and SW operates on the "Rule of Cool", so to save myself a headache, I decided that this universe also operates on that rule. Furthermore, there is very, very little historical accuracy here. So, if either of those things are going to annoy you, I'd recommend hitting the back button now, lol. 
> 
> If you've decided to keep reading, I hope you enjoy the story!

Cassandra Wayne comes back to Gotham under the cover of night, slipping back into the cogs and gears of the city as if she’d never left, as silent and unassuming of a presence as she ever has been.

There are rumors, of course-- they are _always_ rumors, the city thrives on them-- but nothing that’s groundbreaking, world-shattering, headline worthy. After all, they’re in a city that hosts a menagerie of much more fascinating vigilantes. The return of the seldom-seen Wayne heiress is not breaking news.

Not for the papers, anyway. 

**-**

Cass went to the library, first, when she returned.

It seemed... fitting. Right. Cass could remember the first time she went there like it was yesterday, the cold in her bones and the way her stomach growled and how, upon stepping in, that had all faded away. It had still been there, logically— she had still been soaked when she slid in through the cracked open window, still been starving when she crept towards the light, but—

But it had been warm. It had been warm, and the people there had seemed kind, and she'd spent so long running and fighting, so long alone. And the library— it had been warm. She remembers that first, before she remembers seeing Barbara for the first time, red hair pinned up in delicate ringlets, golden yellow dress like the sun. Before she remembers sitting, and listening, and trying to understand, and she hadn't known the words back then, but the people had been... happy. There were kids in brightly colored dresses, and there were things written in books that made their bodies hum delight-suspense-amusement-grief-excitement. 

She hadn't gone in fully that first day, had lingered at the edges, wary. She wasn't like* them, with her ragged too-small trousers she'd grabbed— or, well, stolen— from a bag left in a carriage, with the grime streaking her shoes and arms and hair. She had blood on her hands, and they were happy*, and those two things were irreconcilable.

So, Cass hadn't gone into the main part of the library the first time she went. Or the second. Or the third.

The fourth time, Barbara had seen her, invited her in, and Cass had ran*. The fifth time, two days later, it had happened again. The sixth time—

The sixth time Barbara had been absorbed in the making of a gadget, and Cass had scared her badly enough that she nearly got stabbed with a piece of clockwork.

Barbara isn't in the library now, of course. Cass' boat had docked in the harbor when dusk was already falling, and she hadn't exactly sent a telegram announcing her return. She'd stepped off the steamship with her bag, nearly fallen flat on her face because her legs weren't used to ground not swaying beneath her feet, then hightailed it straight to an old safehouse to dump her luggage. 

She'd quickly changed, dumping her bust bodice and corset on the ground— a habit she knew she'd have to break once she returned to the manor and living with Alfred— then slid into the dark corduroy and leather clothes that would leave her looking like one of the thousands of workers in Gotham. From there, it was easy to reach the library, to find the old window she used to use to break in, and break in yet again.

The seventh time she'd went to the library, her first visit after the near-stabbing incident, Barbara hadn't been alone. She'd been working on something small and metal again, and there had been a man beside her, a man reading from an old book he held in one hand as he gestured wildly. His voice had been going high, then low, then high again, and it had seemed to delight the kids.

And— the new person had scared her. So she'd ran, again.

It would be months later when she finally actually met* Dick, after the ground had cracked apart, and after her father showed up and aimed his gun at Commissioner Gordon's head. She'd met him when Gotham was falling apart, and it was only after that when she'd finally asked. 

Well, asked might not be the right word for it. Cass had spent three weeks trying to mime his actions to him to get him to tell her what the book had been. It had taken her dragging him to the library and imitating her performance for him to understand what she meant. 

Cinderella. The book had been called Cinderella. It was about a girl with nothing who'd worked and worked and worked, and hadn't let it turn her cruel, and got everything because of it. It reminded her of the Bat. Of the mission. Of being better, being kinder, protecting*.

Cass stood in the library now, and despite it's darkness, it felt as cosy as always. She'd... missed it, while in Hong Kong. Found libraries there, but they hadn't been the same.

Being kinder. Protecting. She tried to do that, tried to be that, but Dick was— had been— better at it. He had been kind, and he'd protected them, and—

And Dick—

Dick—

She knew, from experience, from Stephanie and Bruce and Kon, that grief did not truly go away. Knew that it would pop up at the worst of moments, and stab*, and that said stab would be a thousand times more painful than any knife could be. 

She was trained to endure knives. But, if what she saw in Bruce when he thought of Jason was accurate, not even the Bat was able to train himself to endure this. 

Dick was... dead. Had been, for months. She'd been in Hong Kong when it happened, and she'd hid, because she couldn't bear it. Because it couldn't be true. Not after they'd just gotten Bruce back. Not when she was thinking of going home*.

But he was* dead. She knew that. She thought she'd managed to accept that. Accept that while he might come back, he probably wouldn't. Accept that he was gone, that— that the dead returning was the exception, not the rule.

Cass sat down on the ground hard, one hand grasping a table leg, and tried to breathe.

-

**Two days later…**

“Strawberry is _clearly_ the superior choice.”

Cass shook her head the slightest amount, leaning forward to rest her crossed arms on the counter. She rested the side of her head on her forearms, and looked back at Stephanie, who had dropped her mouth open. “How-” Stephanie cut herself off, and dragged her hands down her face in what appeared to be exaggerated distress, tipping her head forward and widening her eyes as she looked up at Cass through her eyelashes. A few strands of her blonde hair came forward as well, slipping out from behind her ears to frame her face.

“Chocolate,” Cass said, and willed herself to think about ice cream flavors and those thin glass dishes it came in that were both very pretty and annoyingly breakable, instead of… other things.

“ _How_ could you betray me like this, Cass? How?” Stephanie rose back up dramatically, and planted her hands on her hips. “Nu-uh. Absolutely not.”

“Sorry?” Cass said, shrugging, and not feeling very sorry at all. Stephanie pouted, meeting her gaze evenly. 

Stephanie broke their improv staring contest first with a loud, dramatic, sigh of defeat. “Fine, I’ll compromise. Because I’m amazing, and you love me.”

Cass made a doubtful noise. Stephanie steamrolled on.

“ _Because I’m amazing, and you love me_ , let’s compromise and go for neapolitan.”

“Quick change of mind,” Cass observed, and she clasped her hands behind her back. “You went from anger to acceptance in less than three seconds.” 

“I _can_ change it back,” Stephanie mock threatened, but then she grinned. “Listen, I’m adaptable! I mean, I’m super flexible. _Super_ flexible.” She winked.

From behind her, Cass heard a choking noise. She turned back to check on-- _blood on Bludhaven’s streets, emerald green, that really good tea that shows up in her apartment every two weeks_ \-- Tim, but while the tips of his ears were red, his face was buried in his hand, and the lines of his body were spelling out _embarrassment-regret-exasperation,_ he appeared to be fine health wise. 

Hm. 

Cass turned back around, and opened her mouth to reply, right as Stephanie took her hands off her waist to roll her shoulders back, stretching backwards. 

And… her mouth was suddenly dry.

Cass had died before. Died _twice_ before. It sucked. 

It was possibly less tortuous than this. 

(No. Not funny. Not even in her head.)

She shut her mouth, trying to get back into the real-human person mind set. “I… will accept that compromise.” She said, ignoring the moment of silence that had stretched just a bit too long. Her dress felt much too tight. It wasn’t, though-- she knew it fit perfectly. She _remembered_ getting it fitted, remembered it with the crystal clear clarity of the cut glass bowls that Alfred brought out for big events. 

For a moment, quiet, but then there was a snort from behind her. “You guys realise that we could just get two bowls, right?” Tim said, cutting in.

The first words he had said since he and Stephanie arrived. Other than a greeting. His tone was… snarky. But not malicious. Teasing, maybe? “We could even buy three. Or four. But only if we want to be _particularly_ crazy. You know. Like we always are,” He brought his hands up, doing… rock hands? 

… No. _Jazz_ hands. Jazz hands. Yes. 

“It’s almost as if B is a billionaire,” Tim continued, “and that makes us billionaires by association.”

“We could,” Cass admitted. “Tempting, but…” she angled her head towards Stephanie, the memories of doing this same routine to a different bat years ago seeping in, and Steph took the silent cue.

“It’s the _premise_ of the thing, Tim.” She said, and she was grinning, all magenta lips, the corners of her eyes scrunched up. Cass focused on that, and not the inadvertent pang of _something_ that hit her heart.

“This is, like, a process for us. A carefully cultivated, time-honored ritual,” Stephanie continued, and she turned, moving closer to Cass. Before Cass’s brain could put everything together there was suddenly an arm on one of her shoulders and Stephanie’s chin on the other. Her hair smelled faintly of raspberries. 

Good distraction. 

“It’s, well… it’ just a thing. You know. A _thing_. Cass?”

Cass nodded, and a factory whistle whined from somewhere else in the city, effectively pausing the conversation.

“She’s correct. It is a thing.” Cass said once the whistle stopped, focusing on Tim’s black eye behind the light blue-tinted metallic sunglasses and not Stephanie’s breath tickling her neck. He shot her a faux betrayed look, with a barely noticeable wince, _light sensitivity, most likely a different head injury than the eye_ , and she shrugged, unrepentant. “Sorry. But it’s…” She paused, trying to think of the right word. “Habit. No. Tradition.” 

Stephanie wrapped her other arm around Cass’s other arm, basically drawing her into a hug. “Yes! Exactly. You can’t join our ice cream dates and then butcher our long standing tradition with your newfangled fancy black cards Timothy. That’s _rude_.”

“You are dismissing my logic,” Tim complained, but raised his hands, placating. “Okay, okay. I give, logic is for people who don’t live in Gotham. I surrender my point.” He ran a hand through his hair, displacing too-long combed back hair, his suit overly formal for the event of an ice cream run. 

Stephanie stood up, releasing her, and she _did not miss the weight of her arm_. “Good choice.” She bopped Tim on the back of his head, and headed towards the counter. “ _So_ , three scoops of neopolitan for us, one of those weird cookie straws you say you hate, and a box of doughnuts to bribe Dick with so he lets me use his contacts for the Onomatopoeia case, without me becoming indebted to him. Anything else?”

Cass shook her head. Tim uncrossed his arms, and shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “No ma’am.”

Stephanie clicked her tongue in acknowledgement, and headed to the register, flounce in her steps. Cass--

Having Stephanie back, and actually being in the same city as her, the renewal of their old ice cream dates--

Stephanie hadn’t died. She’d been in Africa, recovering from her injuries, on death’s door, but she’d _survived_ , and she was _alive_. 

Cass kept having to remind herself of that. That Stephanie was _alive_ , because she used to have to remind herself that Steph was dead and--

Her hair was longer. Her motions had changed. She was harder to read, signs that she wanted to do something reckless with no reasonable explanation. Signs she was holding something back, but that something never came out. She was faster, stronger than before. 

She was different. But she was also smiling, and laughing, and breathing.

She’d known that Stephanie was alive for almost a year, now. Bruce was back in the proper time period. Cass should’ve gotten used to them both being there.

She hadn’t.

A sharp elbow hit her side and she jerked up, looking over, barely batting down the reflex to punch. Tim had somehow moved to be _right next to her_. 

“Hey,” she complained. He shrugged, unrepentant.

“You were looking a little gloomy,” he explained. “You need to be standing on a gargoyle, overlooking Gotham, rain pouring in the background to justify looking that gloomy.”

He didn’t say anything else. Cass considered his words and the back of Stephanie’s head. “Just thinking. A case that isn’t wrapping up.”

Tim probably caught the lie. “Yell if you need help. A fresh pair of eyes can always help.” He paused. “You and Steph?”

“Hmm?” She asked. Stephanie was now having a lively discussion with the cashier, hands gesturing wildly. 

_Stained glass mosaics. Gargoyles and rooftop tag. That shade of purple she still could barely look at._

“You know, whatever the two of--” He cut himself off. “Well, you know. You and Steph.”

“I… do not know.” She said, turning her head to look at him. A window was behind him, big and bright, gleaming in her eyes. “It’s… good to have her back?” 

She couldn’t see his eyes through the sunglasses, but she could feel the stare he was leveling her with. ‘Are you--no. Absolutely not. It’s _way_ too early in the morning for this.” He leaned back, resting an arm against a display rack. “How’s, uh, staying at the manor?”

It was a clumsy change of subject. Cass let him have it. “Quiet,” she admitted. “Hong Kong was much louder. I forgot what it was like, to be in a place and have it be…well...”

Tim nodded “We should probably go help Stephanie with the ice cream.” Cass made a noise of agreement, and started forward, but a hand on her elbow stopped her. “The R&D department is always loud. If you’re looking for some white noise, I could get you clearance.”

“I could just sneak in.” She noted, turning back to face him.

“Or you could do that.” Tim paused for a moment, then his lips twitched. “Steal me a donut, will you? Dick never shares.”

“Steal your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Alright, have a little bit of historical accuracy as a treat. Fun fact! A bust bodice was used to get that "ideal" hourglass-esque shape, and instead of cinching in, like a corset, it builds out. 
> 
> \- Okay, okay, a teeny tiny bit more of historical accuracy for y'all. Corsets... really aren't that bad, y'all. They were essentially the equivalent of a bra, and unless one is "tight-lacing" (think your stereotypical putting on a corset scene-- tight-lacing was usually used for really formal events, kind of the historical equivalent of fashion over function) they really aren't painful at all. Also, they really don't restrict your range of motion that much, they just make it so that you have to move in different ways. Furthermore, back then corsets were often made with "whale bone", which is basically keratin, so when you wore a corset, as your body heated up, the keratin would as well, allowing you more flexibility.
> 
> \- Alright, don't worry, I'm done being vaguely factual now. Anyway, the part with the library and Barbara and Barbara making gadgets was inspired by the graphic novel _The Shadow of The Batgirl_ , as that's how Cass and Barbara meet there! 
> 
> \- How did Dick "die"? Great question! I'm afraid that that's classified, as my inner Bruce Wayne refuses to disclose it to me. Goddammit, Bruce.


	2. Chapter Two

That’s not to say that the papers won’t catch a glimpse of Cassandra, though. There are expectations that come with the Wayne name, and while Bruce Wayne’s only daughter historically has had no issue with ignoring said expectations, the rumor mill claims that she’ll be attending the gala tonight regardless.

Which means she’ll probably make the news, as galas do tend to make headlines. Not by the nature of their design, but by the way they tend to coincide with disaster in Gotham, the way they’ve become almost beacons of trouble.

So it’s not unusual for the villain of the week to plan their crimes so that they occur right as Gotham’s elite, and, well...

The Court _does_ have a flair for the dramatic. 

-

Galas were, at their best, somewhat fun. On occasion, they managed to be really fun. When they were hosted in beautiful locations, when the guest list was small-- well, Cass had had fun at them. 

At their worst though, Galas tended to be tedious and mind numbing. This one was rapidly approaching the ‘worse’ end of the spectrum. 

The night’s gala was being hosted at the Hotel Belle Moniac. Cass had been there once before. It had been overrun by Joker goons at the time.

It was looking much better today. The ballroom was full, waiters in sleek black darting around Gotham’s upper one percent, an elaborate dance she felt completely out of place in. Elegantly painted fans fluttered in the crowd, a weak attempt to drive away the oppressive heat, and Cass was pretty sure she’d seen a few women carrying around small dogs. She had taken refuge next to the buffet table, practicing her _not making eye-contact_ skills. Unfortunately, the gala was indoors, meaning she couldn’t just wear an outrageously big hat to avoid eye contact.

The dress was long sleeved, something she'd protest normally, but was thankful for today. The black and blue decorating her arms would certainly raise questions, and she really had no way of answering them. Saying that she _might've_ been a helping hand in the explosion at the docks certainly wouldn't go over well with the Mayor.

The Mayor already looked annoyed enough, anyway. She wasn't sure _exactly_ what Tim was saying to him, but that trainwreck was the least stressful thing going on.

Enough people in a small place guaranteed strong emotions, and being in the same room meant Cass was going to pick up on them. She knew that she was feeling stressed, and she knew the blonde in the shimmery silver dress that had slipped in fifteen minutes ago was stressed, but Cass wasn’t sure if she’d been stressed _before_ she saw shimmery mermaid dress.

There were too many different factors, and they were all layering over each other, making it impossible to find the core of her discomfort.

Ugh.

She picked up on the footsteps heading her way before Damian was even in close range. He was good, but not quite as sneaky as he thought. Plus, she’d had a few weeks of living with him to get used to his sneaking around. “Where’s Bruce?” She asked into empty air.

“Tt.” Damian replied, appearing at her side. His tie was a dark purple, and slightly crooked. “Father informed me that he had business tonight.”

Cass made a noise that was not quite a snort. Because _really_. “Selina related business?”

He glowered up at her. “ _Batman_ business.”

Selina had arrived at the gala 22 minutes ago. She did not have an invitation. Her lipstick had been a rather striking red.

“Very well. Batman business,” Cass agreed. She leaned over the buffet table again, taking in the spread of food. Depending on how long she stayed, she might be able to try one of everything. 

She did _not_ want to stay that long.

“What are _you_ doing _here_ , Cain?” Damian asked, and she bit down on her cheek, swallowing down the instantaneous flare of anger at the name Cain. Vicki Vale was here. They were here to make Vale _less_ suspicious. And Vale was always watching. Like Santa. No fighting preteens in front of Santa. “What are you even doing in Gotham? Father hasn’t informed me off the date of your departure yet.”

Cass chose a delicate white cake from an elevated platter, picking it up as gently as possible. It looked fragile in the light, like it could fall apart at any second. “I’m not.” She said. Bruce had informed her that he already shared that with Damian. Dick had informed her that Damian had a hard time accepting things that didn’t line up with his plans. “Recommendations?”

“...For the cakes?” Damian was unable to hide his confusion. It was only a little bit funny. “Are you incapable of answering a simple question? I asked you when you were going to--”

Cass chomped down on the pastry as hard as she could. Strawberry jelly exploded inside her mouth. Damian stopped talking. She used the rest of the cake to scoop the jelly into her mouth, turning to lock eyes with him, and proceeded to chew as slowly as possible, keeping her eyes locked on his. She exaggerated her swallow, tilted her head to the right the barest amount, and smiled.

Damian’s annoyance was palpable. Cass probably shouldn’t have found it as amusing as she did. 

“I’m staying,” she finally said, before hooking her thumb at the table. “Been a while. What’s good?”

He crossed his arms. “Tt.” 

Somewhere to the left she heard a snippet of a conversation, something about _those street urchins_ , but before she could fully process it, Damian’s hand was on her wrist, and he was dragging her to the other end of the table. “Try the ones with the raspberries. They are… adequate.” 

Cass nodded, ignored the pang and Damian dropped her wrist, crossing his arms again, turning away to survey the gala. “If you’re staying, you might as well be useful. Why is Brown here?”

“She steals shrimp from the kitchens to hide in the pockets of annoying people.” Cass replied automatically, trying to figure out which cake to pick up. Then her brain caught up to her mouth. “Steph’s _here_?”

“She just arrived.” Damian arched an eyebrow. “Who’s next? Todd?”

The last time she had seen Jason, he’d been bleeding out in her safehouse in Hong Kong. Words had been said. _Words_.

“Doubt it.” She said, choosing a cake from the middle. A dab of white frosting made it onto her finger. “Where is Stephanie?”

Damian scowled. “She appears to be talking to Kane and Montoya. Is--” He broke off. “Did she just put something in Mayor Hady’s bag?”

Cass snickered. “He… deserves that,” she said in between nibbles of the cake. “It’s justice.”

Damian tutted, but didn’t disagree. Cass took another bite of the cake, savoring the chocolate and buttercream, the raspberry almost tangy against her tongue. Not exactly like pineapple, but similar.

“Good recommendation,” Cass told him, and she leaned backwards, searching for the trio.

“Tt,” Damian acknowledged. “On your six.”

She swivelled around, and true enough to his word, Stephanie, Kane, and Montoya stood in a loose semicircle near the center of the room. They were close enough for Stephanie to be getting subtle revenge on the Mayor for his statement about vigilantes earlier.

Cass studied the trio, her fingers tapping absentmindedly on the table. “Thank… you,” she finally said, trying out politeness. Damian sneered in response. 

“Just keep this gala from falling into it’s inevitable madness before midnight,” Damian said, and his voice sounded cranky, but he didn’t look all that irritated. “Father seemed concerned about possible ramifications if we attracted suspicion, and Brown causing a scandal reflects badly on all of us.”

“Bruce usually is the one causing the scandals,” Cass pointed out. “Stephanie isn’t going to risk her scholarship, Tim has to convince W.E. that Bruce wasn’t crazy for putting him in charge, and anything Dick… anything Jason does doesn’t matter, because he’s legally dead.”

Cass’ gut twisted up at her slip, and she swallowed, hard. She didn’t dare look at Damian. She just _couldn’t_. And the silence stretched on, and on, and _on--_

“What about you, Cain?” Damian asked, and his voice had an odd lilt to it, but was just as haughty as ever. “I’ve looked over the records. You don’t go to galas often.”

And that was something Cass could make herself smile at. “Father’s daughter. Barbara doesn’t risk it.”

Damian frowned. “Why are you here, then? I don’t suppose you actually _enjoy_ these events.”

“Vale,” Cass explained. “She took an interest in my return from Hong Kong. We delayed my public appearances, so matching things up would be… difficult, but me just hiding would be suspicious as well.”

Damian nodded once, picking up on what she wasn’t saying. Cass took the moment of silence to pick up what looked to be some kind of meat on a cracker. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Stephanie smiling, hands exaggerating her words as she described something to Kate Kane. Kane shook with silent laughter, glossy red hair falling around her face, and Renee Montoya appeared to be suppressing laughter herself.

Cass grinned into the bite of cracker that she took. Then wrinkled her nose. “Don’t try those,” she advised, after she forced a swallow down. “They are… bland.”

“Everything here is bland,” Damian pointed out. “But, I will take your word for it.”

Cass shrugged and finished the cracker as quickly as possible, trying not to let the taste touch her tongue. She then swiveled away from the table to grab a flute of what appeared to be cider, and downed it.

The cider did not cross out the taste of the cracker. Disappointing.

Stephanie caught her eye as she wove her way back to the table, leaning out from behind Montoya. Her fan, which was delicately painted shades of lavender rested near her heart, and she winked. Cass grinned back.

There was a noise that sounded like a swish, and she ducked past a girl with dark hair, her dress a dark lavender with silver edges. 

Then a scream broke through the air.

For a moment it defied logic. It was a break in her routine, a shattering of her return to the table, and she caught a look of terror on the dark haired girl’s face. The scream had been loud, masculine, full of fear and horror--

She was racing forward, hitting Damian from behind, knocking them both to the ground.

“Cain-” He said, and there was something like panic in his voice, but there was no time for that. She pushed him down, turning back the way she’d come, her hair whipping her face. She dreaded what she was going to see, and guests were backing up, running--

There was blood, and a knife, and body. 

It was a perfect throw. Fatal. An instant kill. The knife stuck out of the man’s head, a silver hilt adorned with an orange gem. His eyes were still open.

People were clamoring in their rush to get out, crushing each other, skirts and boots and abandoned drinks falling. “Assassin.” She said, and her voice was detached from her own body. “Find Bruce. _Now_.”

Damian twisted underneath her, and she glared, channeling every bit of Bruce and Shiva and Cain she had. “Do _not_ go after the assassin.”

He looked like he was going to obey her, but she had no time to make sure. Cass pushed herself up, pulled Damian up, and sprinted.

In an instant she had a knife in one hand and a grapple in the other, her delicate white gloves having been shed. There was a window that could be opened to the right. It was not guarded well. The quickest opening for an assassination.

She threw the window open and hit the window frame with both hands, vaulting over it. Her skirts fluttered around her as she fell, and the grappling hook caught her momentum, preventing death by fall.

It’s pure luck she saw the distortion in the light, the thing _running_. 

It’s a flash of movement, moving from rooftop to rooftop.

Her path changes automatically, and the assassin doesn’t seem to be expecting chase, but sure knows how to respond. Acrobatics that remind her of Dick are in a sharp contrast to its hulking form as it climbs higher and higher, hitting near impossible angles in an attempt to throw her off. It blends with the shadows in a way only bats do, but--

Something orange and slightly luminescent glints off the shiny metal of a nearby building, a part of it’s uniform, and she has it firmly in her sights. She catches a glimpse of what is probably combat gear, although much more stylized. Climbing boots, knives visible up and down its body. No obvious guns.

The batsignal is on tonight, and the night is all the much brighter for it. 

A duck-back, a near impossible jump--

It turned back, a full mask, and it was looking _at_ her. Blue circular lenses that concealed any eye color, gold embellishments that went over its eyes, down its nose, and above the jawline. A black-sash looking thing across it’s chest, a golden token on it’s collarbone, and it was human-esqe, so she maybe should stop calling it, it. 

The assassin is bringing them into the downtown quickly, and it’s a good place to go when you’re running from someone, the easiest place to lose someone in a crowd. 

But she _knows_ how to track people, and she’s flying through the buildings, trying to figure out his moves before he even plans them. 

The speed he’s moving with is inhuman, and he knows the buildings and the streets, but Cass is better. She’s at a disadvantage right now, but she’s better.

For half of a second, at least.

There’s a sudden change in direction, muscles bunching, shoulders tightening, and it’s only her years of training at Cain’s hand that have her duck out of the jump, a glint of something transient whipping past where her head had just been.

She released the grapple to bring her hands up to shield her head, tucking her chin down. Gravity took over, and she has half a second to contemplate how much this is going to hurt until she’s crashing down to the building below. Her body goes into an immediate roll, but her left arm manages to take the blunt of the fall, and--

There's instant pain, a flare of agony up her arm and into her head. Her ears are ringing, and she opens her eyes to see that she’s seeing double. It’s one second to recover-- _too slow_ , and she managed to push herself up, just to come face to face with the knife that had been aimed at her head.

It lay on the edge of the roof. Simple, except for an eye-drawing orange gem on the hilt. A perfect throw. The same kind of knife that had killed a man minutes earlier.

Cass didn’t need to check to know it’s owner was gone.

She checked anyway. 

The knife goes into her thigh holster with ease, right next to all the others, and it looks like it belongs with them, which makes her stomach want to curl up and die. Patrol is going to be brutal for all of them tonight. She still doesn’t know the deceased man’s name. 

And Barbara was right about the dress. Short sleeves won’t cover the bruises that, knowing her luck, are probably rapidly forming on her arms. So she’ll have to change her outfit for tomorrow, if she actually wants to go out in public. Ugh. 

Well, at least the Black Bat uniform doesn’t have any variations. She’ll just deal with the rest of her clothing dilemma when she ends up getting dressed tomorrow morning. Right now, she has an assassin to begin tracking down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Running in an ankle-length dress is actually a pretty feasible feat! There's a good reason why skirts were worn so often in history-- riding a horse is really one of only activities where wearing a skirt is an actual hindrance more than a help. Anything longer than ankle-length runs the risk of one tripping over their skirts, though, which is one of the reasons long skirts were used throughout history to represent wealth and status.
> 
> \- Her ability to move her arms so much while wearing the sleeves in this scene, however, is much less accurate. Let's just pretend she had a Miranda from Brave moment and ripped the seams around her shoulders/armpits, and move on lol.


	3. Chapter Three

The fact that the Wayne heiress had apparently leaped from a window _does_ make the papers.

After all, it is not everyday that Gotham’s elite gets to witness reclusive socialites defenestrating themselves so that they can go chasing after assassins. 

Of course, that’s not what the official statement released about it by Wayne Enterprises the next morning says happened, but _really._

This is Gotham. They’ve been hearing less than plausible explanations from the Waynes for years. There are only so many surprise business trips one can take before people finally accept that a surprise business trip is the closest they’ll ever get to any sort of truth.

There’s a reason the death of Cassandra Wayne is not publicly known, a reason that her subsequent revival by Shiva is a secret to all but a select few. There are whispers, of course, but that is not unusual. It’s the Waynes, after all. There are always whispers about the Waynes.

-

Cass had found the clockwork owl right around the time when the sun began to rise, casting jagged shadows through the streets as the world began to hum.

Or, hum louder. Gotham was always noisy— the crank of the gears keeping the city running 24/7, and the nightlife that was never as sneaky as it thought.

Just as she’d predicted, patrol that night had sucked. She ended up covering Burnside, after Oracle had received a tip that someone had spotted what looked like their assassin down there. Well, technically they’d said something about an inhuman shadow monster with golden eyes, but… civilians. When translated from civilian hysteria, they actually meant they’d seen someone that looked like the assassin. 

Burnside wasn’t _bad,_ but… it was Stephanie’s part of town, and being there without Stephanie just felt wrong. Which made no sense, because she’d spent months patrolling alone in Hong Kong, so being alone _shouldn’t_ have bothered her.

But. But it had… bothered her.

And when she’d found the owl, the factory shifts had just started changing for daytime, weary, coal covered workers churning out from underneath the city, as the earliest risers went outside. Burnside was low, compared to downtown Gotham. Less skyscrapers, less people. The ticking of the gears that kept the city running always sounded louder. 

Black Bat had been on the ground. She’d put an end to a mugging, handing the perpetrator over to Officer Lue, and was about to take off again when it caught her eye.

The clockwork owl had been in a gutter, muck covering and clogging the gears. But it had had glittering, orangey-gold jewels for eyes, and those jewels had practically shown through the early morning shadows.

It was the closest thing to a clue she’d seen all night. Whatever the person had seen, it had been long gone by the time Black Bat arrived. 

So Black Bat picked the owl up, paying no mind to the mud, and wiped it off on her suit, before realizing that _that_ had done nothing, and that she needed some kind of actual water if she wanted to get the grime off it.

Twenty minutes later and she arrived at one of Stephanie’s safe houses, dumping her suit for a loose white tunic that was probably Tim’s, and a pair of black-gray slacks, a pair of her own that she must’ve left there. She then took the clockwork owl to the sink, and started on actually cleaning it. 

Now, five hours later, she was in the rafters at Wayne Technology’s R&D branch. It was one of her favorite workrooms, the dusty, high, windows allowing sunlight to peak in, shafts of light illuminating the area. Plants she couldn’t name grew high, intertwining with support beams and the rafters themselves. Gears moved in the background, the ever familiar sound of ticking powering the area, and big, clear glass balls of steam powered the newest machinery. She was leaning against a chimney that billowed smoke and steam out of the building, and the side of the owl was pressing uncomfortably against her hand, the edge of it just pointy enough to be an annoyance.

The clockwork owl fit in her hand perfectly. She could wrap each finger around it and cover it completely, unwrap each finger and see it stare back up at her. The eyes only seemed to glow more now that they were washed, an almost supernatural glow. It’s beak was sharp silver, and green-blue gears were mixed in with its copper looking body. The owl was made from delicate, impossibly small parts, and she could hear a tick-tock each second, even though she could not find a clock face on it.

It was beautiful. Unnatural. Expertly made. And something she should not have found in a gutter. 

Below her machinery whirled, and Tim _robin-but-notanymore_ was half-underneath what looked like a new batmobile prototype. He had abandoned his suit jacket on a chair, and the single breasted vest he was wearing was almost definitely completely destroyed via oil.

The... board meeting almost certainly did not go well. At least, she was pretty sure he had a board meeting. Maybe it was skateboarding?

Eh, didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it had caused a mixture of _hurt-anger-annoyance-hurt_ to practically drown Tim. 

She waited another moment to see if he was going to actually get out from under the car. Cass hadn’t been quiet when she arrived. Well, not quiet to a _Bat_ , at least.

Tim did not get out from under the car.

“You look like a racoon.” Cass stated, flipping down off the rafters. She landed silently, and Tim jerked, nearly hitting his head on the car, before pulling himself out from underneath it. His hair was half tied back in a loose ponytail, and circular blue-tinted glasses obscured his eyes. He looked ridiculous. She pursed her lips together so she didn’t laugh,

Tim pulled his glasses up with one hand, leaving them resting on top his head, and used his other hand to push himself up from the ground. And while he _was_ favoring his left side, he wasn’t favoring it enough for a serious injury to be hidden. He moved stiffly, but Tim was always stiff. Stephanie said it was a side effect of his neurotic-ness.

“And you, as always, are quite the charmer.” Tim said, and grinned, dropping a wrench on a nearby table. He ran a hand through the front bits of his hair, ignoring the grease he was getting on it. “Also, no. I do _not_ look like a racoon.”

Cass opened her eyes wide. “Beady eyes. Under eye circles.” She brought her hands up and wiggled her fingers. “Tiny hands. Always hanging with the trash.”

Tim sent her a rude gesture, but the tension was draining from his shoulders. Not much, but some was better than none. “Racoons are noble beings, Cassie. I am honored to be considered one.”

“Always hanging by the trash,” she helpfully reminded him.

“Oh come on, I don’t hang out with Jason _that_ much.” 

Cass grabbed a sheet of paper, crumpled it up, and threw it at him. Tim ducked, but it hit his head anyway, bouncing to the side. Victory. “Be _nice_.”

“I am! You’re the one who compared me to a totally noble, very dignified animal.” Tim paused, tilted his head to the side. “How’s the assassin case going?”

Cass opened her mouth to reply, then reconsidered, and instead asked: “Ninja?”

“None here, no one listening, unless Ra’s has really stepped up his game.” That was good. She hadn’t seen any coming in, but…

Tim had a megalomaniac murderer send teleporting shadow assassins after him last time they worked a case together, so it was best to check.

Tim continued. “Let me guess, this case-related visit.”

Cass nodded. “Found something. Thought you might know more.” 

“Oooooh.” Tim said. “Is it explosive? I like explosives.”

“ _No_.” Cass paused. “Expertly done, though. Confusing. Possibly left behind by stabby.”

Tim stared at her for a second, before he managed to put it together. “ _Stabby_?”

Cass shrugged. “He tried to stab me.”

“Right.” Tim’s mouth turned up a little bit, which for him was the equivalent of a full body grin. Okay, I’m curious, hand over the mystery object.”

Cass grinned. “Found it in a gutter.” She tossed the owl at him, and Tim caught it in one hand, before flipping his glasses back down, bringing it up to eye level.

Cass sat down on a nearby table, glancing around the workshop to pass time as Tim examined it. 

Huh. She’d noticed that the workshop was empty earlier, but hadn’t actually processed it inthe context of the fact that usually the workshop was bustling. Tim must’ve sent everyone home early. 

“I would like to marry whoever made this,” Tim said, a few minutes later. “I will be the _best_ housewife ever, just let me pick at this person’s brain. Holy shit.”

Cass looked back over. He was looking at the owl the same way he looked at those _really expensive_ death-traps that people called hot-air balloons, which was the same way he looked at _coffee_.

“What is it?” she asked, suddenly much more curious.

“No clue,” Tim replied, flipping it around in his fingers to hold it up to the light. The owl’s eyes glinted. “It reminds me of a clock, but other than chiming every second, it doesn’t really tell time. I don’t see anything that resembles a clock face, at least.” Tim paused, squinted. “There isn’t anything to indicate that it might’ve originally been on a necklace either, which is what I first suspected. The gear pattern reminds me of some of the oldest clockwork in the city, you know the stuff in the old subway station? But it’s still working. Somethings keeping it ticking.”

Cass frowned. “Unusual?”

Tim nodded, a sharp thing. “Yeah. I can’t figure out what’s powering it. The old leverage machines drew off of steam, but even they broke down after enough time. This doesn’t seem to have any power source, and it’s still ticking.”

Tim was _fascinated-angry-interested-hurthurt_. It was… confusing. He was quiet, like he’d been ever since she first met him, but his travels last year had… changed how he reacted. But in the _hurthurt_ she could see the same kid she’d known for years.

It wasn’t solely because of last year. She knew this. Knew it well. Knew there was something missing, something that felt essential.

She felt it too. Felt that feeling of something being off, but this time she wasn’t all alone in China, wasn’t feeling off because she’d given up the Bat and given up her family and was flailing all alone. It was subtler now, more insidious. Like a blind spot, like it was creeping up on her.

Except it wasn’t creeping up on her, because she knew what it was. Knew what was missing, what was wrong, why everything just felt _off_.

Cass shook her head to try and shake off that train of thought. Not relevant for the investigation. Not something she wanted to deal with right now. Or ever.

“Track it?”

“I can try,” Tim replied, thankfully not commenting on her pause. “I’m not recognizing the parts on site, or the craftsmanship, so either I’ll be able to narrow it down really easily to a specific person, or whoever created it has stayed hidden so well I’ll be unable to narrow it down to anyone.”

Cass wrinkled her nose. She did not want to suggest this. She _really_ did not want to suggest this.

But she knew she had to. Tim wouldn’t come to the conclusion on his own. Too much like Bruce, that way. Too fond of science. “Magic?”

Tim looked up, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Magic…?” he asked, then made an _oh_ , face. “God, I hate magic, but that would explain why it’s working without a power source.” He sighed. It was a very dramatic sigh. “Do you really think stabby is magical?”

Cass shrugged. “Can’t rule it out. Is there a way to track the… magic?”

“ _If_ it is magical, Raven might be able to track it’s signature.” Tim said after a moment’s hesitation. He then paused, and studied it again. When he looked up, Cass had opened her eyes in the way she’d seen Stephanie do to Bruce last time she asked to use the Batmobile. 

“You want me to ask her to do it, don’t you,” Tim stated. It was very much not a question. 

Cass widened her eyes further, and tilted her head slightly to the right. Tim glared at her, but his heart obviously wasn’t in it, and she resisted the urge to cheer. No cheering until she _definitely_ won. 

“You know that you are friends with Kon, right? He’s also friends with Raven. You could ask him to ask her. Hell, he’s Superboy, he could fly over there right now and ask her.”

She blinked back at him. Oh, she absolutely was going to win this. After all, Raven could just teleport over. He knew this. She knew this. 

Tim sighed. It was a deep, empathetic, over dramatic sigh. “She’s going to kill me for interrupting her vacation.”

...Oh. Oops.

Cass gave him a sheepish look. “You’re my favorite brother?” she tried, and grinned as he groaned. 

“I’d better be.”

-

Three hours later, Cass was regretting asking Tim for help.

“This is a bad idea.” She said as they walked, her tone matter-of-fact. “I know. Raven told you. But this is a bad idea.”

“Why is it a bad idea?” Tim asked distractedly, his eyes fixated on the clockwork owl. Cass sighed, and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the way of several other pedestrians that his inattention had him drifting towards.

“Slit _your_ throat. _Shot_ Damian.” Cass said, and took in a breath, released it slowly. Calm. Calm. Calm. “He _kills_ people.”

“Yes…” Tim allowed, “but…” 

Cass narrowed her eyes, waited. Tim was still looking at the clockwork owl.

They walk in silence for the next thirty seconds. “But?” she finally prompted, waving her hand in between Tim’s face and the owl. Tim looked up, startled, eyes wide. He blinked at her, and his expression looked… 

His expression looked _owlish_. Ha. Stephanie would get a kick out of that.

“Oh yeah, right. Well, he should be willing to work with us as long as we make it clear that working with us will be the easiest way to get us out of his hair.”

“He _kills_ people!” Cass repeated incredulously, whipping her head around to glare at Tim. “He! Kills! People!”

“It’ll be fine, he won’t kill our people.”

Cass made a noise of exasperation and sped up her stride, forcing Tim to speed up as well. They were already on track to arrive at the cafe early, but there was no reason they couldn’t arrive even earlier.

-

In hindsight, it was a good thing that they’d sped up. They’d arrived twelve minutes early, but Jason had arrived just two minutes later.

“Jason,” Tim greeted from by her side, and _wow_ , she hadn’t been aware you could see a migraine headache in every part of someone’s body until now. But that was definitely what Tim was saying, down to his toes. Jason was a mixture of _weary-annoyed-apprehensive_ , which was better than she’d expected. Although, in his defense, the few times they’d met had been almost civil, for vigilantes.

…Yeah, her ability to self-delude got better and better every day.

“Replacement,” Jason greeted. “Barbie’s replacement. What the fuck inspired you nerds to arrive early?”

Cass tilted her head. There was a slight limp in Jason’s right leg. “You arrived early… also,” she observed. 

At her side, Tim’s arm twitched. She had little doubt that it was going to elevate to an eyebrow twitch soon. 

Jason stared at her. Accessing. “...That’s fair,” he finally admitted. Then, he held a hand out. “Jason Todd. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

Cass shook his hand. “Cassandra Wayne. You nearly bled out in my safehouse.”

“ _Cass_.” Tim hissed. _What? It was true. He had!_

Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. Maybe that was a social… faux pas? Was that the phrase? 

The lock of bone white hair had thrown her the first time she’d seen it, and considering that during most of their interactions he had a red helmet on, she still wasn’t used to it. “Aren’tcha trying to convince me to use my contacts to getcha an in with a few groups? I gotta admit, you aren’t bein’ super convincing, at the mo’.”

She met his eyes. “There’s an assassin that might be in your territory.” She gave him a thin lipped style. “The kind of assassin that reeks of magic and has a good chance of getting the Justice League involved. You let us do this the easy way, and we get the assassin out of this area, meaning we also get the possibility of you having to deal with the League over with.” She brought her hands up, her palms face up. “Win win.”

“Also, we’re more asking for permission to operate in your territory.” Tim said. “We’ll try to keep the magic as far away as possible from this area. Preferably, it will be nonexistent.” 

Jason snorted. “You don’t ‘ask permission’.” He said, scrunching his fingers down, then up twice by his face. “You do what you want, and then you don’t apologize, because you are assholes.”

“Yeah, we’re planning on working this whether you give us permission or not. However, what I said about magic is true.” Tim’s face was the perfect picture of innocence. Cass could see how not fooled Jason was.

She stomped on Tim’s foot, because this was _his_ idea and antagonizing Jason didn’t exactly seem like the best course of action, but he didn’t seem to be angered by that statement. Mostly amused and resigned. Maybe a little angry, but not enough to become violent. “I figured.”

“What’s with the fancy getup?” Tim asked, hand resting in a pocket Cass knew contained pellets of nerve gas.

And it wasn’t something that Cass had noticed, but now that Tim had pointed it out, the black dress coat and white waistcoat stood out against the other clothes people were wearing in the pub they’d chosen for the meeting. There were two buttons on the end of the sleeves, a bright ruby red, and the tail went down to Jason’s knees. It was evening wear.

However, it wasn’t like Tim and Cass had dressed casual. If they were able to do this the easy way, where they cooperated with Jason, they would’ve wanted to start looking immediately. So Tim was wearing a similar getup, the only real difference being three yellow buttons on the sleeves. Her dress was a tea dress of white mousseline fabric and ercu lace, a rose gold velvet ribbon adorning the shoulders and neckline, the sleeves cutting off midway down her bicep. Personally, it was a favorite dress.

“I could ask the same.” Jason said, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on his arm “Oh, come on. Same reason as you. Aren’t you two detectives?” He uncrossed his arms, transferring the tapping to his leg, leaning on the wall with his other arm. “You can work on this case in my neighborhood. But I’m coming. And I’m pretty sure you two would throw a fit if I came in a leather jacket. Which is kinda rude. So, suit.”

“Wait, you’re actually going to help us?” Tim burst out, his eyebrows shooting up.

Jason stepped back. “You literally came to ask for my help, what did you expect me to do? Say screw you and leave?”

Tim didn’t dignify that with a response. 

“I’m hurt, Red. Down to my bones.”

“Thank… you.” Cass interrupted. “Do you have any… input, on where we should start?”

Jason’s fingers stopped abruptly, and he brought his eyes back to hers. The unearthly green of them was a color that Cass knew all too well. She’d see it in the mirror, in her nightmares-- 

It didn’t matter. 

“Oh, I sure do.” Jason said. “What’re your opinions on undercover work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Did skateboards exist at the turn of the century? Who knows! Probably one of you lol. Honestly, I could Google it, but ngl, I've spent so much time staring at this story that I really can't bring myself to care, oops. Listen, it's a steampunk au, okay, let's just pretend that with steam power came skateboards.


	4. Chapter Four

They still whisper about it, in the upper crests. The death of Jason Peter Todd, the way Bruce Wayne seemingly fell off the rails in its aftermath. A horror story and a mystery wrapped all into one.

That’s not the only rumor that flies around, though. Much less spoken about, much more secret, is the rumor that Bruce Wayne’s second son never died at all, or if he did, that he came back… strange.

Strange, they say, because there is not truly a better word for it. Strange, those with the nerve and daring to whisper about his supposed return call him. Strange in the uncanny resemblance they see in strangers on the street, strange in the flash of glowing green eyes at night, almost like a stray cat, slipping into the shadows-- if stray cats were six feet tall. 

But regardless of the truth of the matter, there are flowers on Jason Todd’s grave to this day.

-

Jason scribbled an address on a calling card, tossed it at Tim, and told them to meet him there in half an hour.

Cass had wanted to scope out the place before their meeting, because there was every chance that this would be a trap. Just because Jason had been avoiding killing people in front of Bats recently didn’t mean he wasn’t an enemy, but… they didn’t have time, and Jason _had_ looked genuine when he wrote down the address. She’d give him that much. 

(But Jason had also been trained by the League, same as her, so she wasn’t about to take that at face value. She didn’t _think_ he could deceive her, but…

She didn’t want to be wrong about that. Safer, than sorry… was better.)

So Cass was on high-alert when they met just outside of the ground level of the Iceberg Lounge, across the street from it’s entrance, which was designated by silver lettering, as well as the presence of guards. 

“Seriously?” Tim asked when Jason approached them. “Here? We couldn’t have gone literally _anywhere else_?”

“Calm, grasshopper.” Jason said, not even trying to disguise his glee at Tim’s despair. “This place has it’s reputation for a _reason_ , kay? _Everyone_ stops here. Hopefully includin’ the assassin you managed to lose.”

“I swear to god--” 

“Speak freely?” Cass asked, interrupting. There weren’t many people on the street, but that didn’t mean much, considering the fact that this was Gotham. 

“Ah, right, you’re my out of town friends,” Jason said, and he flipped his jacket back, letting the grip of a gun show, just enough to be a threat. Cass resisted the urge to deconstruct it, then throw it as far away as possible. “My friends from Metropolis. Ugh. Imagine living in Metropolis.”

Cass glared at him. Rather annoyingly, he was nonplussed. 

“Listen, you’re the ones that are thinking about working a deal with me, and if you’re gonna do that, you should follow my lead. Trying to get a lay of the land in Gotham without a guide is not a good idea.” He grinned, and it was sharp and self assured. “Don’t worry. They won’t ask questions. I’ve got a good enough reputation to discourage that.”

Well. It wasn’t the _worst_ cover story she’d ever used.

“No killing,” she reminded him. Jason replied via hand gesture.

“If you want my help, please tone down your self-righteous bull.” He said, and patted her shoulder just hard enough to be condescending. She didn’t break his hand in response, but that’s mostly because Tim managed to slide in between them before Jason’s hand was even fully off her shoulder. “Coming?”

He turned, walking away without a word. Cass exchanged a look with Tim, but took his offered arm, and followed.

Before this, she'd actually managed to have a conversation with Jason Todd that didn't involve bad guys and death threats the grand total of one time.

That wasn't a _good_ record, but it was a better record than anyone else had.

She'd been in Hong Kong at the time, the mystical neon lights mixing with billows of steam outside her door, a city so unlike any she'd ever lived in. Bruce was-- Bruce _had been_ dead, back than, and her messages to Stephanie didn’t exist because Cass had a million things to say and no words for them, not to mention that Tim had been keeping something from her--

Anyway, when she opened the door to find the Red Hood on her apartment floor, she almost stabbed him.

It was the bat on his chest-- the bright red bat that hadn't been there last time she'd seen him-- which stopped her batarang.

He'd been unconscious. Stabbed three times, but none were life-threatening, with a concerning amount of blood loss, and his back was marked with the kind of bruises that made her cringe in sympathy. Except he’d slit Tim’s throat, which took away all the sympathy points.

Still, she stitched him up. Then found a pair of bat-handcuffs, brought his hands to the front to lock them together, and left him on the couch with a satin blanket.

The handcuffs wouldn't stop him if he really wanted to fight her, but they'd provide enough of an obstacle to give her warning. 

The Red Hood had ended up sleeping about two hours until she woke up, the nightmare she'd been having already forgotten, the sounds of screams in her ears. And she didn't scream during her nightmares.

He hadn't gotten out of the handcuffs-- they were _bat_ handcuffs, but he'd managed to get to one of his guns. He didn’t shoot when she entered the room, though. And that was better than Cass had expected.

"Hello." She said, trying to imitate the body language used by Batman when comforting scared kids. She wasn't sure if she was doing it correctly. Comforting people was something she wasn't... bad at, but she was better when she actually liked the person she was trying to comfort.

The scar on her brother's neck had pretty much determined her opinion of the second Robin. But it was hard to hate Jason Todd when he was staring at her and everything in his body screamed _hate-love-no-whatsgoingON-control-control-control-controlcontrolcan’tcontrol--_

"God, you're as creepy as B." He snarled, shoulders hunched. The handcuffs didn’t seem to be impending his abilities too much, based on the gun still pointed to her chest.

Better than her head.

A scoff at her lack of reply, a glare that mirrored Bruce's a little too much. "So, what the _fuck_ is this? We havin' a sleepover? Gotta admit, not lovin' the handcuffs, and if you wanna braid hair, they're gonna have'ta come off."

Cass shrugged. "Wanted... bed. Found bleeding out body. Yours." She glared back at him. "Security. How did you get past it?"

"What, like it was hard?" It was. Barbara had coded it. But Dick had warned her that underestimating Jason's skill was as good as a death sentence, and--

“It’s _alien_.” Cass pointed out.

Jason shrugged. “I’d like to repeat my earlier sentiment.” He lowered the gun, knocking his head back, a harsh laugh coming from his throat. “Fuck. Why the _fuck_ did I go to your safehouse?”

“I… was wondering that.” She admitted. Then, her sleep deprived mind decided to throw away any logic she had in favor of satisfying her own curiosity. “What’s with the bat?”

"Stole it from Goldie. Figured he'd getta little pissy bout it, but it ain't like he can do much 'bout it." He tensed. “And why am I telling _you_ this?”

“Blood loss.” She said. Blood loss had a history of doing bad things to the part of her brain that controlled her mouth. It wouldn’t surprise her if that was the same for Jason. “Have you been here before?”

He’s shaking his head before she even finishes her question. “First, only, and last time, let me assure you.” Hood switched the safety back on his gun and set it on her coffee table. “So, Batgirl… what brings you to Asia’s World City?”

The Batgirl nickname stung more than she expected it too, but it was the second part that was the most surprising. Small talk. That was... small talk. 

"Batman." She said, and she wasn't... angry, she couldn't be angry at a dead man, at her _dad_ , but--

She missed Gotham.

And she missed the split second when the Red Hood flipped, when _green_ came, summoned by her word, but it was there in his face and his arms and his shoulders--

"Still a'marching to the old man's beat?" He asked, and it was callous, cutting, a full 180 from before. "He have your whole life planned out in his final words? Still playing the good soldier, all wrapped up in his little world, even after he--"

Hood cut himself off, and there was a brief flicker of regret in his face, like a little kid that had made a horrible mistake, but that was nothing compared to the roaring in her ears.

How _dare_ he.

How--

"That's what I thought... _you_ were doing." She said, and her hands were in fists, her breathing suddenly hard, "Playing all rebellious with people's _lives_ , but you are the one here with the bat on their chest, wrapped up in the memory of a dea-of a... man. It’s… _pathetic_."

Cass had been pretty sure that he hated her the moment the words came out of her mouth. She couldn’t even pretend and say her opinion of him was any higher. That brief moment of what hadn’t been banter but hadn’t been purely hostile either had evaporated in a split second.

Now, none of that seemed to matter

The Iceberg Lounge hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been in Gotham. Faux silver arches greeted them upon walking in, swirls and icey-looking flowers lining the walls. The building didn’t appear tall from the outside, because most of its height came from it’s underground floors. It was a circular building, and upon stepping in you were stepping into both the best place to receive criminal information in Gotham, and the worst place to be in as a vigilante. 

There were fences blocking off various different areas of the bar, a mixture of dark mahogany wood and warped glass, and when one moved to the center of the room, they could gaze up at a crystalline chandelier, or look down to see floor upon floor of meetings, of parties. 

The Iceberg Lounge was almost unbearably loud. The conversations being held within its walls had to compete with the sounds that came from using coal and steam power, making it that one nearly had to shout to be heard. But... it _was_ clean. The one thing Penguin’s Lounge had going for it was it’s cleanliness, as it was kept eternally spotless. She still hadn’t figured out how that worked.

Gotham _wasn’t_ clean. Most cities weren’t clean. Soot was practically a second skin once you spent anytime in an urban area.

The Iceberg Lounge defied that rule. 

Jason led them through the crowd, following an invisible path, avoiding the most important looking people while heading towards the back. He seemed to be headed for _someone_.

“Hey, Briar.” Jason greeted warmly, addressing a girl who couldn’t be much older than them near the back. Dark hair faded into a dark pink color, possibly a reference to her name, and she smiled upon seeing him, her flowing baby blue dress cut off at her ankles to show well worn combat boots. Hm. Unusual. “I thought you weren’t working today.”

“I’m _not_ ,” she said, and she almost looked like a younger Grace Choi, dismissing Choi’s tattoos and the differences in their shades of hair. “Honey managed to forget like, half of her things, so I figured I’d save her and bring ‘em. What are _you_ doing here, Hood?”

Jason shoved a hand back through his hair, and Cass stepped up behind them. “A few friends of mine are thinking of working a deal with me. Figured they’d want to see the lay of the land. You know where our least favorite patron is?”

Briar snickered, then punched his shoulder. “He _listens_. Stop trying to make more enemies.” She shifted to point at something, and Cass caught a glimpse of dark blue fabric layered underneath the baby blue. “Table eighteen. He’s with one of Penguin’s guys though.” She turned, and Cass caught the same dark blue on her wrists and bodice. It was really a great dress.

“Oh, I live for pissing people off, don’tcha know this by now, Rosie?” Jason asked. “What could be better hobby?”

“So many things,” she said, and she was shaking her head. “ _So_ many more things. Please do try not to start another knife fight.”

“You should know better than to ask for impossible things.” Jason said, but he grinned, light and honest in a way that just looked odd on his face, before jerking his head to the right, a silent command to _follow_. Tim took the lead, and Cass nodded to Briar before following.

“Who’s she?” Tim asked, quickening his strides to keep up with Jason’s, which of course meant Cass had to quicken hers as well.

“Her name is Marcia. You two can call her Briar. Sometimes she works here.” Jason held a hand out, stopping their progress. “Ol’ Pengy and I aren’t exactly on the bestua terms right now. An’ unless you want to have an extremely awkward conversation filled with veiled threats, and then have me kick his ass later, just to keep the lay of the land going, we’re gonna have to wait.”

Tim paused, considering, then said: “I fail to see the problem with that plan. “The Iceberg Lounge was one of the places we-- Gordon and I-- wanted to get into. Cobblepot recently had a lawsuit against him dropped suspiciously quickly. We’ve got a few questions for him too. After getting any information from him, I can poke around, I’d rather not waste much more time.”

“... And waiting for me to deal with it counts as wasting?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, he’s currently more suspect to questioning.” Cass cut in, the realization a sharp upping of the stakes. “The man at the table with jet black hair—He’s been drugged. But he’s… aware of it?” She elbowed past the boys, leaning in forward. “It’s not something that’s _worrying_ him. But it’s definitely affecting him.”

Jason was staring at her. “He’s not drugged, double B. March wouldn’t risk that shit, plus this place has a…” He trailed off. “Fuck. He is drugged, isn’t he? What the _hell_ is March playing at?”

“March?”

Jason swore again, under his breath. Cass was pretty sure it was in Arabic this time. “Lincoln March. He’s an information broker. Total _dick_. He doesn’t technically have any legal connections to this place, but everyone worth anything knows he’s the source of a lot of this place’s money.” Jason turned around, meeting Cass and Tim’s eyes. “He wouldn’t be openly flouting like that unless there was somethin’ big in it for him. A top dog breaking the rules gives other people ideas, and that’s definitely a problem here. No good reason to invite that kinda trouble.”

“So this is already getting messy.” Tim said. “Fantastic.”

“I’m _sorry_ , if you want to go, that’d be _great_ with me.” Jason cocked his head. “But my luck isn’t that good, so I won’t hold out any hope.”

“Is March the guy you were asking about?” Tim said, seamlessly changing the subject. “Why do you think he can help us?”

Cass ducked around Jason, crouching down just enough behind a banister to be out of anyone’s immediate line of sight. “He’s an information broker, Replacement. If anyone other than Oracle knows anything, it’s gonna be him.”

The exchange at the table was not going well. The black haired man— March, was getting more agitated by the second, his movements finite and controlled. His pupils were too big, shoulders shivering, but it didn’t seem to be something anyone else had noticed. The other man at the table, the one who must’ve been Penguin’s guy, wore thinly veiled hostility. He was gesturing about something, the tendons in his neck standing out.

“Stick with the plan.” Cass whispered, returning to the conversation. “We need to intervene, or it will turn violent.”

Tim nodded, immediately falling into _Red Robin_ mode. “Who’s the most likely to initiate something?”

“March.” She said. “Jason—“

“Follow my lead.” Jason rocked back on his heels, letting his body go lose, an easy smirk on his face. It was fake. Cass wasn’t sure that anybody but her would’ve noticed.

“Lincoln,” Jason stretched out the word, taking the time to almost quite literally stretch out. Cass slipped behind him, clasping her hands behind her back. “Didja miss my lunch invitation? I can’t think of many reasons why you’d be hangin’ _here_ instead.”

“Hood,” March grumbled, but he looked slightly less like he was going to punch someone. “And Hood’s friends. Would you listen if I asked you to get the hell out.”

Jason twisted his lips together. “Nope.” He grabbed the back of a nearby chair, spinning it around so the back faced the table, and sat down on it, resting his arms on the back. “Mr. Draper, Miss Abel, grab a seat.”

… Abel?

Cass stole the nearest unused chair with a quick apology to the other people at the table, and sat down in it, crossing her legs at the ankles the same way that she’d seen Selina do while at fancy meals. Tim followed suit.

And that just looked _weird_ , considering Tim’s habit of sitting in chairs anyway except for the way they were meant to be sat in. She knew, logically, that while acting as Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO, he probably sat in chairs the same way that non-Bats usually sat in them, but she’d never actually _seen_ him do it.

“A pleasure,” Cass said, as that was what Barbara usually said to those kinds of things, and dipped her head the smallest amount.

Jason winced. “I’d save the sentiment for the end, interactions with Lincoln here are rarely pleasant.” Cass turned to glare at him, and he smiled, a thousand watt smile. A _Brucie Wayne_ smile. Ew. “No offense, of course, my most esteemed host.”

“I’m looking forward to throwing your dead body into the Harbor.” March said, his voice flat. “Mr. Hood, Mr. Draper, Ms. Abel, have you met Mr. Ignatius Ogilvy? He’s in Mr. Cobblepot’s employment. We’re currently having a conversation.”

“ _Really_?” Jason rested his chin on his crossed arms. “Tell me more.”

Ogilvy glared. March glared. Cass resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Mr. Ogilvy, Mr. March” Tim said, waving an airy hand through the air, something that would look like a casual _I’ll take it from here_ to most people. Jason rolled his eyes up behind the domino mask, meaning he probably caught the real meaning of _shut the fuck up_. “So pleased to make your acquaintance. I apologize for any interruptions, but my time in Gotham is limited.”

“Eh, Hood might be an asshole, but he’s usually good for business.” March flicked a lighter, procuring a cigarette from a pocket. “Which _doesn’t_ mean you can keep buttin’ in on things that are none of your business.” He said, with a pointed look in Jason’s direction.

Jason snorted. Cass had a feeling that one didn’t need to be able to read body language to pick up on the fact that Jason was going to keep butting in on things. 

Ogilvy was full out glowering now. “Listen, I’m sure he’s got his uses, but I don’t have time for a psychopath’s bullshit or whatever the two of you are selling.” He leaned forwards, getting up in March’s face. “Either get to the point, or get out. Preferably the latter.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Jason said placatingly, spreading his hands apart. “I’m sure we’ll all be able to come to an agreement.”

Cass shifted in her seat, and resisted the urge to sigh. This was going to get… interesting. 


	5. Chapter Five

Flowers aren’t rare in Gotham, per say, but they’re not _not_ rare either. In a city of steamwork and shadows, only the most stubborn plants would survive, would manage to dig in their roots deep enough to come back year after year. The city worked against them, just as it worked against its residents, and it’s self. Truly, the fact that it didn’t fall to ruin and become a ghost town after the earthquake was solely because of the tenacity of Gotham’s residents. 

Perhaps that’s why Gothamaites have such a problem staying dead. Perhaps the stubbornness that living there required ended up etching itself deeply enough onto the soul’s of the people that sometimes, death simply couldn’t win.

That theory is not a theory that science supports, but the architecture of Gotham isn’t something that physics supports, and said architecture exists regardless of that fact. 

It’s a better theory than _magic_ , anyway.

-

It had taken a lot of roundabout, circular conversation and hidden threats, but finally, _finally_ , Ogilvy had left, and they’d gotten to ask March about the mage Raven had pointed them towards, the one who’s last known location was in Crime Alley. 

“Went to Metropolis,” March had admitted, once Jason pressed, _truth_ _but hiding something_ , and oh, that was interesting. 

Metropolis was a city made up of hundreds, if not thousands, of interconnected platforms, all held together around the central landmass that made up the original city. It was kept above ground by a combination of balloons, pulleys, cables, and cantilevers, and it was anchored to the northeastern section of the United States. Legend had it that the Man of Steel had been the one to lift the city from the ground, but Cass had never worked up the guts to actually ask Clark if that was true.

She’d asked Bruce, and he’d grunted. She’d asked Tim, and he’d gone on a rant about how it was an engineering nightmare almost certainly supported by magic. She’d been planning on asking Dick next, but--

Well. That hadn’t happened.

Anyway, she knew she wanted to go to Metropolis with Stephanie sometime, so she’d looked into it. It had been a while ago that she looked into the city, though, as she’d first considered wanting that months before Steph’s… brief departure from Gotham, which was over two years ago, now. Back then, Cass had only been in the City of Tomorrow once before, with Kon, but-- she’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed it a lot. As one of the only aerial cities in the world, Metropolis was different in a way that Cass hadn’t expected to enjoy so much. She could never _live_ there, she liked her feet on solid ground too much, but she would like to visit again, and she’d like Steph to be there when she does. 

It’s a fantasy she hasn’t entertained much recently, not since she thought she’d lost Steph, then learned that she hadn’t, then thought she’d lost Bruce, then learned that she hadn’t, then actually lost Dick, but-- 

She’d looked into the city years ago, anyway. So she _knew_ that Metropolis had strict laws regarding magic, strict laws regarding what could and couldn’t be brought on and off the floating city, and what kind of shielding spells were allowed. She knew that only weak shielding spells were allowed in the city, spells that wouldn’t protect magic users from other magic users looking for them. Anything stronger than that was outlawed, and anything stronger than that was extremely hard to keep up-- according to Raven, at least-- so while the mage may have gone back to Metropolis, they couldn’t have stayed there long, as the moment their cloaking spell went down, it would have alerted Metropolis’ authorities.

The mage went there, but didn’t stay there, and while March knew why, he’d evaded their further probing.

Afterwards, Jason had been more than willing to give them the addresses to every hideout he knew March had, seemingly annoyed enough with March that it completely overruled his dislike of the bats. They weren’t quite out of leads because of that, but while Cass had been all for breaking into each house that night, Tim and Barbara had convinced her to let them survey the houses first. Which did make sense, logically, but--

Ugh.

Black Bat had been half suited up and half out the clocktower window when the telegram about the Arkham breakout came in, completely derailing her plans to scope it out that night. 

_But_ downtown Gotham wasn’t on fire. Yet. 

And really, that shouldn’t have been a surprising statement, but it was. Because Arkham breakouts equalled fire and blood and broken streets, but other than the searchlight from the Zeppelin above her, Gotham looked normal. She’d swung through downton on her way to the park to double-check, and the buildings had been as intact as ever.

Well, no, not really. Not technically. The buildings had been destroyed in the earthquake, so intact as ever wasn’t true. But it was a saying. And it was basically true. Kind of. It probably didn’t need to be that true.

That didn’t matter. She had more important things to concern herself with right now. Namely, Ivy.

She’d found a good perch above Robinson Park, as the overhang from the building she was next to prevented the searchlight from finding her. Hiding wasn’t exactly the best course of action here, though. At least, not for much longer. Because while she might’ve been hiding, Ivy wasn’t. 

And since Ivy wasn’t, if she didn’t deal with this quickly, they’d have visitors. Meaning she’d most likely have to deal with the GCPD.

Hopefully Ivy would just turn herself in. Black Bat would appreciate not having to deal with that. 

Batman and Robin had checked in while she was still at the Clocktower, registering that they were near the Narrows and on Clayface. The-- _glowing-yellow-future-newbie_ \-- the new kid, the Signal had taken Hatter and Red Robin was trailing Croc-- who hadn’t caused any trouble yet, but was also someone you didn’t take on alone unless you were flat out of options. Batgirl had the most recent check-in, and as of a few minutes ago, Batgirl was driving Dollhouse to the docks, as far away from any human beings as you could get in Gotham.

Considering Dollhouse’s history with the organ trade, mass murder, and vaguely alchemic, incredibly unsafe human experimentation, no one was opposing that decision. 

Black Bat jumped to a better vantage point, careful not to accidentally set off one of Ivy’s traps. Gotham Park was flourishing, and even though Black Bat hasn’t technically entered the park yet, she could see Ivy’s effects. The greenery was breaking through cobblestone, wisps of plants bright against the ever present dirt of smoke and coal. The plants practically glow against the backdrop-- and for all she knows, they might actually be glowing. She was pretty sure they weren’t native to Gotham, at least. 

“Black Bat, do you think you’re going to need backup?” Oracle asked. “We suspect that Ivy’s brought something, that she has some kind of new poison with her. Robin found a ledger of the Penguin’s. Do you see anything… especially unnatural?”

“Plants in Gotham.” Black Bat said dryly. “Plants _flourishing_ in Gotham. Nothing looks too weird, for Ivy. A lot of them are glowing though. That’s… new. But I shouldn’t need backup.”

“Do be cautious, we have no idea what it actually is that Ivy bought. Does the glowing look like anything we’ve seen before?”

“Nope. And noted. Ivy doesn’t appear to have any hostages. I’m going in.”

“Keep your comm on.” Oracle ordered. “Signal, what the _hell_ am I seeing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Signal’s voice sounded strained. “Why are you _like_ this, Tetch?”

She hit her mute button, cutting off the conversation. If Oracle needed to talk to her, she could override the mute. 

They’d started using the comms when she was in China, and while they were useful, they were still… weird. Alien technology they still didn’t understand, and if B had been Batman when they wouldn’t have started using them. At least, not without understanding them better.

But B hadn’t been Batman. Dick had. And he’d hated it, she knew that, knew he’d never wanted to be Batman, just as he’d known that she did.

She wasn’t… angry, about it. She _couldn’t_ be angry about it. It was _Dick_ , and--

Those thoughts were unproductive to the mission, just as her dislike of the new tech was. Black Bat just had to deal with it, and move on.

Below her, morning glory flowers stared at her from the treetops, the flowers blooming despite it being the middle of the night. Ivy’s warning system. She hadn’t triggered them yet, but once they detected her motion, the flowers would start to close, sending off a signal to Ivy.

There was no way of getting in without setting them off. Ivy had set up an annoyingly good perimeter. 

Black Bat could make out three possible exit routes that wouldn't be immediately cut off by plants once she got in. 

Batman would go _up._ Her grapple gun meant that up was a viable option, but up got more difficult the deeper one went in the park. 

Spoi-Batgirl would go _through Ivy._ And that was an option. Ivy was most likely standing outside one of the old abandoned subway tunnels. Most strategic place to be standing. But Ivy probably planned to make thather own escape route.

And Red Robin would take _the catacombs_ , which they had only just started to map. Chance of getting lost and people being unable to find her was too high, but they _were_ expansive enough that Ivy wouldn't be able to secure all the exits.

All escape plans, if Black Bat needed to run. Unnecessary. She wasn't planning on running.

Hopefully Ivy could be reasoned with. When she had no hostages, she was usually more reasonable. Going in guns blazing wasn't always the best choice.

Black Bat curled up, feeling the press of stone against her back, then sprung, and she was falling through the trees. She caught a glimpse of the flowers curling in, going from shades of purple and blue and pink to green, and the plants started to twist, Ivy now aware of her presence.

She didn’t bother throwing out a grapple. She knew Ivy wouldn't let her hit the ground. Sure enough, vines rose up as she fell, wrapping around her, stabilizing her fall and trapping her. She doesn’t cut through them.

They’re new, at least to Black Bat. They seem to be almost pulsing around her, a steady thumping beat like a heartbeat. Bright golden light peeks out from behind what almost appears to be a green shell.

She doesn’t know much about plants in general, but she’s pretty sure that isn’t normal. Or healthy.

"Dr. Ivy," Black Bat greeted once the plants pulled her into view. Ivy was looking relatively healthy, red hair down and intertwined with blossoms, only a little paler green then normal. Probably a side effect of Arkham. She slowly smiled, dark green lips and bright white teeth. Her dress resembled a middlemist camellia. Jade vine was curling in the air behind her, the claw shaped flowers reflecting a luminous glow in Gotham’s night.

"Bat… person." Ivy stood up from her throne of flowers, walking forward, the plants moving with her. "Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you before."

"Black Bat works." She replied. The plants tightened around her. Arm spikes would take out the veins around her torso, but she'd have to duck so none got around her neck. She could probably use a batarang to cut whichever one went for her neck, however she’d have to leave her feet for last. But if she threw a smoke bomb with her _other_ hand, while trying not to get strangled, she could distract Ivy long enough to get her feet free. "What's with the... plants?"

Ivy arced an eyebrow at her. And, to be fair, she hadn’t exactly worded that specifically, and it _was_ Ivy. Plants were kind of a given, and anyone who knew anything knew that. Luckily, no part of Ivy said _immediately_ hostile. Annoyed about Black Bat's interference, confident about her plan, but currently willing to let her talk.

Surprisingly civil, considering Black Bat was new to Gotham, so Ivy was presuming they’d never met before.

"The gold ones." She rectified. "I... understand. The whole plant thing."

“Oh, _them_.” Ivy drew out the word, lifting her shoulders, tilting her head to the side. Smiled, and it was sickly suave, a refined baring of her teeth. “They’re a… _new creation_ of mine. Like them?”

“You are strangling me with them.”

Glare. “None of them are around your neck, _for now_. I’m just lightly squeezing you with them,” she said, and brought her hands up, greenery expanding behind her, growing at an inhuman pace. 

Black Bat was pretty sure the word ‘semantics’ would apply here. She did not say it. “Are you planning to kill me?” she asked instead, and discreetly pulled a vial from her belt. If Ivy refused to go peacefully, she’d have to be quick if she wanted a sample of the glowing golden liquid.

“I’m considering it,” Ivy admitted, and she stepped forward, inhumanly light on her feet. “Why are you here, _Black Bat_?”

“I was hoping you’d be interested in working out the terms to return to Arkham.” Black Bat shrugged as much as she could with the vines wrapped around her. “Or willing. If interested is too much to ask.”

Ivy made a face. “Really? That’s all?”

Black Bat paused, considered her. “I’m willing to speak about your new plants as well.”

Slowly, Ivy smiled, all teeth. It was a predator’s smile, meant to intimidate. 

Hm. Black Bat’s was better.

“They _are_ lovely, are they not?” Ivy asked, running a hand delicately over one near her. “I’ll admit, I was skeptical when I first saw the product, but it has exceeded my expectations.”

“The product?” Black Bat asked, tilting her head to the side. “The… gold stuff?”

Ivy sent her a look. “Yes,” she said acidly. “The gold stuff.”

“Looks alchemic,” Black Bat commented, ignoring Ivy’s shift in tone. “Was it… sold to you?”

“Yes and yes, little bat,” Ivy said after a moment’s hesitation. “Not my usual area of interest, but… the demonstration was intriguing, and I am a scientist at heart.”

“The demonstration?”

“It’s not like I was about to buy it just because someone said that it came from a powerful mage,” Ivy replied. “The word of a crime lord in this city means very little.”

A crime lord had sold it to her? Black Bat narrowed her eyes, asked, “Penguin?”

Ivy made a face. Not Penguin than. Pity. Penguin being the seller would’ve made this a lot more simple.

“Cobblepot is not someone who I’d even _consider_ during business with,” Ivy said with a sniff. Black Bat considered mentioning the fact that she knew of past incidents to the contrary, but decided against it. “And don’t bother to ask who the seller was. I’m not going to tell you, just so you can bust them.”

Shame. Expected, especially since Ivy seemed to actually like the glowing gold stuff, and Black Bat busting the seller would cut off her supply of it, but still. Shame. 

“Is there anything you _will_ tell me?” Black Bat asked, and Ivy looked at her, considering. 

“Can you get your lot to avoid bringing Harley in until the Joker is out?”

… Probably? Harley Quinn had been out for a while, and staying low-profile the entire time. As long as she kept behaving herself until the next breakout, Black Bat could probably get Batman to agree to leave her alone. “I can try.”

Ivy stared at her for a few seconds, then sighed. “That’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?”

It sounded like a rhetorical question, but… safer than sorry was better. “Yes.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Very well. The seller seemed to be in a hurry, which was part of why initially, I was reluctant. Hurried sellers usually mean bad products.”

“But the product wasn’t bad?”

“Do you really think _I’d_ buy a bad product?” Ivy sounded affronted. Black Bat resisted the urge to snort. “Of course it wasn’t a bad product.”

Black Bat nodded, thinking that over. “Thank you,” she said slowly, “very appreciated.” She paused, and tightened her grip on the vial, slid her hand towards her batarangs. This could go sideways very quickly. “Now… Arkham?”


	6. Chapter Six

When Stephanie Brown died, her injuries had been such that neither magic nor science could have saved her without a miracle happening as well. 

The fact that a miracle did occur is the reason that Dr. Leslie Thompkins was able to bring her back, and that fact is one that the Wayne family guards fiercely. Gotham may have a higher rate of resurrections than many other cities, but considering that most other cities have a resurrection rate of zero, that truly does not say much.

They’d rebuilt her chest, piece by piece, clockwork and alchemy combining in impossible ways, with impossible results. A defiance of fate, of all known logic and reason, and a secret because of that. The surgery had only worked once, only worked on one person, and bringing someone back to life just to tie them to a table so that one can figure out what makes them tick is not very much of a life at all.

After all, there are people in the world who would commit truly heinous crimes for the chance that they could learn to influence death.

-

The training room was unusually bright.

“Are you just going to stare at me?”

Cass crossed her arms, slouching backwards, her spine an easy curve against the wall. “Up.” She said, pushing down the instinctive smile, going for sternness. Stephanie lay on the mat, the back of one hand on her forehead, her other arm splayed out, fingertips just barely reaching Cass’s toes. Her hair was only half in the bun, the curls winding around the hair tie in a mess Stephanie was going to have to untangle later. “We have more training.”

Bright blue eyes stared up at her, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on Steph’s face. “Nahhhhh.” She said, kicking her legs further out until she looked almost like a starfish. “I’m good down here. Join me?”

They had a silent battle of eyebrows, but Stephanie’s came out victorious. Possibly because Stephanie actually maintained her eyebrows. More likely, it was because she reached her hand out, and grabbed Cass’s ankle, which startled her enough to give up. 

Cass laid down with a thump, putting her arms down by her sides. “This isn’t training.” She mentioned. Stephanie moved her hand off her forehead to pull Cass’s arm from her hip and lace their fingers together. 

“Great observational skills.” Stephanie said. Her hands were cool and clammy. “It’s almost like you’re a detective.”

Stephanie’s hands were not usually cool and clammy. 

“Are you… sick?” Cass asked. “If you are we can take a break.”

“It’s fine, Cassie,” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. She looked comfortable, happy. But her hands were still clammy. 

“But working when you're sick is…” _Hypocrisy time_. “Not healthy. You shouldn’t do it.”

“I’m not sick, Cass.” Stephanie said. “Leave it.”

“But--”

“Don’t you remember? I can’t _get_ sick anymore.” 

And that was-- that wasn’t right, that made no sense, not the words themselves, and not the exasperation in Stephanie’s voice. Stephanie was as human as Cass was. She was no less susceptible to viruses. Of course she could get sick. And-- Stephanie wouldn’t be _that_ annoyed at her for being worried, not unless there was something really wrong. 

She must’ve stayed silent a little too long, because Steph scooched closer, and she caught a whiff of Steph’s perfume, otto of roses. The fact that she hadn’t sweated it off yet was… odd. “Hey,” Steph said, almost hesitant. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“You… _can_ get sick.” She insisted a moment later. “ _Everyone_ can get sick. Even Superboy can get sick, and he’s half-Kryptonian.”

“No, I really can’t.” Stephanie’s voice stayed level, reasonable, despite the fact that the words she was saying made no sense. “And Superboy can’t get sick either. Not anymore. You need to _remember_.”

Cass caught a quick flare of anger in her gut and pushed it down, because she wasn’t angry, just confused, but this was bringing up all the memories of when she’d first joined the bats. When words made no sense and everything was too bright, too loud, when she was _wrong_ except for when she was in the middle of a fight. And now she felt like that again, like Stephanie was slipping through her fingers, and it was a terrifying thought.

Stephanie didn’t always make sense, but this felt like Cass was being left behind, like the fact that she didn’t understand was going to lead to abandonment. 

“What do I need to… remember?” She asked, trying for _calm_ and _cool_ and _collected._ She was just confused. Steph wasn’t leaving her behind. It was fine. “Why can’t Superboy get sick? What does that have to do with you?”

“It’s two different cases, but at the core of it, the issue is the same.” Stephanie said, and she shut her eyes. “But really, Batgirl. This is simple. Superboy is dead. The dead can’t get sick.” 

Her breath caught. She dropped Stephanie’s hand, going immediately for her wrist, for her pulse point. Stephanie didn’t fight her. And--

“Don’t tell me you forgot about me too,” Her voice was soft and chiding, unlike how Stephanie usually sounded. Her eyes had opened again, and they were no longer blue but a radioactive green. Cass didn’t register her grip going slack until the grib was reversed, Stephanie’s hand grabbing her wrist hard enough to bruise, the tips of her nails digging into her arm. “I’m _dead_ , Cass.”

It was said with a snarl, a tone that _wasn’t_ Stephanie, a tone that was Shiva and Cain, that was Deathstroke and the burn of the pit on her skin.

“It’s okay,” Stephanie said, and suddenly all the anger was gone, just _Stephanie_ , all brilliant blue eyes, her grip loose, allowing Cass to pull away if she wanted to. “This isn’t the kind of issue that you can fix. It’s okay.”

It was _Stephanie_ without a pulse.

“Steph,” She whispered, and she _had_ to flip the grip again, _check_ again. “No, Steph, _no_ , we can get you medical help-- ALFRED!”

“He’s not here.” Stephanie said. “Lay back down again, would you? . I’m dead, and you weren’t even there when I died. It’s been awhile since we got to hang out.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she wanted to scream but her throat wasn’t working anymore. Cass looked down at her hands, and there was red on them, blood splattered across them. She stared back up at Stephanie, choking on what might’ve been tears or a scream, and there was a dark shadow on Stephanie’s chest that was rapidly expanding--

She brought her hand up in a nerve strike, and whoever was above, whoever woke her up knew her moves, and they were dodging automatically.

“Cass.” Bruce said, his face swimming into focus above her. And Bruce-- Bruce was _dead_ as well but when she saw him in her dreams--

There was a bruise on his jaw, _new_. The size of her fist. He wasn’t injured in her dreams. “Cassie. Are you with me?”

She sucked in a gulp of breath, and than another, her world shrinking down to the sound of her breathing and Bruce’s hand on her bicep, keeping her pinned. “Yeuhh-yes.” She said, the word clumsy and heavy on her tongue. “Yeah.”

“Did you get drugged.”

She was shaking her head no the moment his mouth formed the words. “Regular dream.” She said. “Bad, but regular.”

Bruce accepted that with a nod. He wasn’t in the batsuit anymore, and his hair was wet, meaning it was probably dawn. It also meant that he’d probably been about to go to bed.

There was an undercurrent of worry there. He was trying to figure out what exactly Cass _wasn’t_ saying. But she had an excellent poker face, so moments later he stepped back, picking up a glass of water from a table.

“Can you drink this.” He asked, and she nodded, focusing on wrapping each finger around the glass. There were imprints of leaves and grapes around the middle, and the cool of the water through the glass on her skin was oddly grounding. 

She sipped at the water. Her throat felt like she’d been screaming. But she never screamed in her sleep. “Is… everyone. Everyone okay?”

“Yes.” He said, and he sat down on a chair next to the bed. She must’ve passed out on a medical cot down in the Batcave. “The worst injury was Robin, he broke his wrist. It’ll heal fine, but he’s benched.”

“The Arkham escapees?”

“Clayface, Hatter, Croc, and Ivy are in lockup. We later learned that Zsasz also broke out, managing to stay hidden in the chaos. Hood is looking for him. Dollhouse is receiving medical attention. She blew a dock, so it’s likely that Hady will be unpleasant next time we see him.” Cass sent him a look, silently asking if he actually cared about what Hady thought. He didn’t reply, knowing she already knew the answer.

She went back to her water. “This isn’t spiked?”

“Just water,” Bruce reassured her. “I would not drug you like that.”

Truth.

“Heyyyy, sorry to interrupt, but I’m not, actually.” Cass flinched at the voice-- _You can’t keep forgetting that Stephanie is dead_ \--and Stephanie popped her head around the corner of the room.

Right. Stephanie wasn’t dead.

Stephanie wasn’t dead. Kon wasn’t dead. Bruce wasn’t dead. Dick--

Dick was dead. 

Dick was dead, and Stephanie and Bruce were not.

“How was your nap, Cass?” Steph asked, stepping the rest of the way into the room.

“Stephanie.” Bruce greeted her with. Then glowered.

But it was friendly glowering, almost fond glowering. “Slept like… baby.” Cass said, trying out the expression. Barbara had said it once to Dinah. She didn’t have enough experience with infants to know if it was accurate or not, but English didn’t tend to care for the accuracy of its sayings. 

Stephanie grinned, and her right hand spasmed the smallest amount. She didn’t seem to notice.

Cass couldn’t stop noticing. She hadn’t been there, when Stephanie had died, when Dr. Thompkins had figured out that she could bring Stephanie back. It was a black and white _before_ and _after_. She poured over the reports when she got them, trying to figure out why Stephanie’s body didn’t seem to match up to her mind the way it used to, how things occasionally seemed to glitch. 

Steph probably got hit in the right arm yesterday, one of the millions of little pieces of metal that made her hand move getting thrown out of wack. It’s definitely an easy repair, since Stephanie doesn’t seem to care, but it’s a terrifying thought, knowing that a too-hard hit could crush the delicate mechanics that made up 45% of her body.

It’s not a logical thought, though. A too hard hit could shatter her arm as well. Stephanie might not be entirely flesh and blood and breath now, but that doesn’t put her in any more or any less danger. It just changes the risks. 

“Is there any news of Zsasz? Or the other assassin?” Bruce asked, voice brusque. 

Stephanie shook her head. “Nothing. They’ve both disappeared.” She rocked back on her heels, and her hand slipped in her pocket, pulling out a small black box. “Barbara found something on the guy who was killed at the gala, though. He worked for the Penguin. Which narrows the assassin search parameters to like pretty much anyone. Which is absolutely not helpful.”

“Penguin?” Cass asked. Stephanie nodded in confirmation, and tossed the box to Bruce, who caught it with one hand. “Ivy said that it was a high-ranking member of a crime syndicate that sold her the...” Cass trailed off, waved a hand. “The… you know. Magic stuff.”

Bruce grunted and hit the center of the box with his thumb, pressing his fingerprint on it. Oracle’s system recognized it immediately, and moments later the box was expanding, gears whirling as it expanded, revealing a small stack of folded parchment. It was probably whatever Barbara had managed to find regarding the investigation. “Most likely. What happened with Ivy.” 

Cass considered the question that was not said like a question. Bruce very rarely said his questions like questions. “The seller approached her. Showed her the effects of the metal, said they were selling, but had a lot of buyers, so the transaction would have to be quick. According to Ivy, she noticed that the seller seemed to be in a hurry. Was reluctant to buy because of that, but the effects of the product were more than enough to convince her.” Her mind was racing to try and connect the dots. “Maybe the seller… stole it? Pissed someone off, so they needed to get rid of it?” she paused, ran Ivy’s words through her mind again, compared them with March’s. “Could the mage who created the gold stuff be the same mage as the one who created the owl? Because if it’s the same mage, maybe he wants it back, and will kill until it gets returned?” 

Bruce paused. “Could be. I’ll ask Zatanna. Do you think Cobblepot was behind the sale?”

Cass was shaking her head before Stephanie even finished her question. “No. Ivy said he wasn’t. Seemed offended that I’d even think that.” Stephanie snorted, hand coming up to cover her nose and mouth, and Cass grinned. “ _Very_ offended. Like she’d eaten a bitter lemon. And tripped over a rat. And fallen in a pit of mud.”

Okay, maybe she was embellishing a bit. But Stephanie was laughing. So. 

It absolutely had been necessary embellishment.

“You think the mage went after Cobblepot’s men because he suspected it was Cobblepot behind the sale,” Bruce stated, bringing their attention back to the problem at hand. Cass nodded. 

“That makes a lot of sense,” Stephanie said slowly. “One mage as the culprit would explain why we’re suddenly dealing with so much magic. It would be a helluva coincidence if two different magic users were involved.”

And while coincidences weren’t _unheard_ of… conspiracies were more common. Especially when Arkham-grade villains got involved.

“The golden stuff, it reminded me of… the Lazarus Pit. Kind of. The plants were almost impossible to keep down. It seemed… alchemic.” Cass said, thinking back to her conversation with Ivy. “Ivy said it was alchemic, at least.”

Bruce made a noncommittal sound that meant he was absorbing every word she was saying. Stephanie fell back on the balls of her feet, leaning forward, her interest piqued. “Like _alchemic_ alchemic? Like eternal life and getting gold from copper?”

“More eternal life, and healing, I think,” Cass said, and she placed her hands at the edge of the cot, pushing herself off slowly. The cave was frigid against her bare feet. “Which would be good stuff to give an assassin. What _was_ that stuff, anyway?”

Bruce grunted, and unfolded one of the papers in the box. It was more vicious than a normal unfolding of a paper would be, which was answer enough. Cass exchanged a glance with Stephanie. 

The fact that Bruce didn’t know was… mildly concerning. He tended to know these kinds of things, so for him to be just as clueless as the rest of them…

That was concerning.

“Maybe Zatanna will know,” Stephanie chimed in, and Bruce paused, then nodded curtly. 

And--

A whirling noise draws her attention away, and Cass looked down to see a robot roll into the room.

Cass paused. Narrowed her eyes.

That was _definitely_ new.

The robot came up to Cass’ knees, and appeared to be carrying a teapot. It looked vaguely like a dog she’d known when she was on the streets-- _vaguely_ \-- but it was very clearly not a dog. It had a bat symbol on it’s back. If she focused, she could hear mechanical clicking coming from it.

“Is that a Batdog.”

At that, Stephanie made a noise that might have been a giggle, but sounded more like she was choking, and Cass looked away from robot-Batdog to cast a worried glance at her. Stephanie didn’t look distressed in the least, though. 

The robot took advantage of her distraction to proceed to bump into Cass’ leg, and make a small, mournful little noise.

“Hi?” Cass said, looking back down at it. Hi was the correct way to greet a dog, right? She was pretty sure it was how one was supposed to greet robots, at least.

“We’re still working on Ace’s peripheral sensors.” Bruce said offhandedly. 

Cass blinked. Because, just--

What?

“That explains nothing, Boss-man.” Stephanie said, echoing her thoughts. The robot-- Ace bumped into Cass’ knee again, and she crouched down to look at it closer. “First of all, who’s _we_?”

“Does that matter.”

“You have a robot dog that’s carrying a teapot! Of course it matters! Who else is helping create teapot robot dog? Why is this the first time I’ve heard of it?”

It took a few moments for Cass to figure out the latches, but once she did, she gently lifted the teapot off of the dog’s back, and set it on the counter. It was light enough that it had to be empty. That was probably a smart move, because, well, robot. Robot with peripheral sensor issues. 

Ace beeped at her.

“I didn’t create Ace,” Bruce said, and Stephanie made a low sound of frustration in the back of her throat. Cass resisted the urge to snicker, and instead patted Ace on the head. “Robin busted a dog-fighting ring a few months ago. Ace was created by one of its members. According to the files we found, when Ace was finished, he was supposed to look like a real dog, but we busted the ring before they got that far.”

“Okay… but if that was months ago, why am I only seeing him now?”

“He was at Wayne Enterprises. Damian wanted to take him in, but before that could happen, we had to make him safe.”

Hm. That tracked. Trust Damian to want to adopt robot pets as well. During one of Tim’s visits to Hong Kong, he’d spent thirty minutes complaining about how Damian got a plethora of animals, while he’d been forbidden from getting a cat. 

Cass briefly wondered if Tim had ever asked for a robot cat, instead. Dick’s face in reaction to that would be _hilarious_ to see--

The realization that thought brings doesn’t hit her like a gunshot wound to the chest, although the sensation does feel similar. Still, just like stabbings, she’s gotten used to gunshot wounds. No, the thought hits her more like…

Like…

The name Brenda. Eggplant purple. Seeing father-daughter duos at the park.

“You said the man killed worked for Penguin,” Cass said suddenly, shoving those thoughts to the back of her mind as she stood up again. Ace made a mournful little beep, but obliging rolled away to go hit Stephanie in the legs instead. “March was speaking with one of Penguin’s men when we spoke to him. Odd interaction. He was drugged, but… fully aware of it. Not worried. Said the mage had left for Metropolis.”

Bruce frowned at that, picking up on the unsaid worrying implications that came with that. Mages didn’t just _go_ to Metropolis. At least, not ones that were dealing in illegal alchemy. Supposedly, Superman could smell it.

...She should ask Kon about that one sometime. 

“March as in Lincoln March?” Stephanie asked, and when Cass nodded, she grimaced. “Ugh. He’s a piece of work.”

“That is… not an incorrect description of him,” Bruce said slowly, and Cass snorted at the clear repulsion on his face. “He was speaking with one of the Penguin’s men?”

“Yes. Ignatius Ogilvy.”

“Hm.”

It was a weighted hm. Bruce thought for a few seconds, then asked-- “Did Ivy give you any other clues to her supplier?”

Cass shook her head. “None. Refused to tell me their name.”

“March isn’t exactly a crime lord, though,” Stephanie said, one hand petting the robot dog. Ace. Could Ace feel the petting? “A criminal, sure, but not a crime lord.” 

Bruce made a noise of acknowledgement, frowned. “I don’t like this,” he stated, narrowing his eyes. “We’re missing something.”

“Start with Zatanna and figuring out the identity of Ivy’s supplier?” Stephanie suggested, and Bruce grunted in agreement. “You deal with Zatanna, and Cass and I can deal with finding the supplier?” 

“Sounds… good,” Cass agreed, and Stephanie grinned.

-

The Neon Dragon Triad had not been the ones that sold to Ivy.

Nor had the Penitente Cartel. Or the Blackgaters. 

Batgirl had managed to cross off the Inzerillo Family, and Panessa Family, as well. She’d commed right before she started with the Sprang Bridge Soldiers, and they’d planned to regroup after Batgirl hit her final stop of the night, the Golden Dragons.

Shaking down every organized crime group in Gotham to try and see if any of them knew anything was perhaps not the most efficient way to try and find answers, but… it did work better than anything else would have, and it was good to make sure all of her old informants were still here, anyway. She was multitasking. 

The somewhat Upper Gotham neighbourhood she's in now twinkles in the night, the soft glow from street lamps breaking through the ever-present Gotham smog. The nearby buildings are new--the old Gothic feel of Gotham’s architecture mingling with the newfangled sleak steam machinery that propelled the world forward. Cass had grown up around the steam powered machines, hiding in the bottoms of the new steam-giants and fitting herself into the smallest spaces of the cogs and gears that make up trains. Always on the move, more and more complex innovations growing in front of her as she hid in the old. 

Gotham’s different, it _always_ was different, because Gotham still clung tightly to its original architecture, hiding the technology of the future in between twisting spires and towering gargoyles. Even _after_ the quake, she witnessed stone gargoyles and flying buttresses come out of the darkness, some of the first details to be rebuilt. It’s different from other cities-- once you’re in Gotham, it’s impossible to forget that you’re in Gotham.

Black Bat had also visited the Hanoi Ten. Lord of Avenues. Intergang. All useless. She needed to find a new informant in the Intergang though, as hers had either ran away or… passed on.

But thankfully, the penthouse below her seems to be a little less useless. One of her contacts had given her a tip about the Odessa Mob, and considering the level of security she was seeing, she was beginning to suspect that that tip had been accurate. 

After all, there are automatons standing guard by the windows, the dark holes in their faces where humans would have eyes staring into the night. They’re meant to keep people out. They aren’t the kind of thing that would draw attention, after all, automatons _are_ the newest, trendiest security method. So, they make sense _and_ they blend in, despite the oddity of seeing so many in the same place at the same time.

The automatons also are not human, which means she doesn’t have to hold back.

The penthouse certainly has more security inside, but she’s read the reports on the somewhat-new head of the Odessa Mob, and Black Bat knew she could deal with whatever else was hidden behind the penthouse’s outer walls.

Alexandra Kosov took over her father’s business two ago. She was now scheduled to arrive back to one of her homes in 35 minutes. Very picky about having actual, live security guards in her space. Cocky.

 _Reckless_.

Black Bat's got just enough time to take them down, search through her stuff, grab anything that looks useful, and flee.

It’s almost disappointing. A good fight would be welcome, as her lack of answers was making her more than a little antsy.

Historically, the Odessa Mob mostly worked in drug distribution and debt collecting. Kosov inherited it from her father after he was killed, and supposedly, she was an excellent business woman.

Which could be very useful, as excellent business woman usually meant impeccable ledgers as well. 

Black Bat scaled down the side of the wall, stopping above the nearest window. She pulls a mini-explosive from her belt, silently apologizes to anyone sleeping nearby, and sets it on the lock.

The resulting explosion was quiet. Tiny. Barely counted as an explosion.

Still enough to make most people flinch. Would’ve made her flinch, if she hadn’t lost her flinch reflex a long time ago. She had, though, so it was a null point.

Black Bat slowly slid open the window, careful of the broken glass, and right as the first automaton noticed her, she readjusted to swing in, feet first.

Her feet hit the automaton straight in it’s chest, and she took the motion from that, leaping to the second, letting the spikes on her forearms come out to slice through the metal. Her other hand grabs a knife, and there are exposed wires on the back of the neck of the first one--

One down, and number two is moving, seemingly unbothered by her spikes--

Her grapple goes around its neck, pulling it sideways, and somethings hit her leg but she _pulls_ and--

Those wires at the neck really seem to be a big design flaw. She dimly registers cooling blood on the back of her thigh. Not ideal.

The rest of Kosov’s security system registers an intruder half a minute later, which is _really_ less than ideal.

Automatic gunfire comes from the walls, but the control panel isn’t exactly hidden. At least, it isn’t to bats. She ducks under three and four, and slams the full weight of her body against the computer. Spikes from her suit follow up, cutting whatever wires are in sight.

The gunfire stops, and she whips around, hand resting on her whip. Four automatons, _not good_ , unknown security system, _worse_. Compared to the Batcave’s tech, everything but the automatons is out of date. But out of date means a different thing for capes. 

That doesn’t mean she understands the tech, though.

She _sprints_ forward, bringing her whip around number four’s neck, and _pulls_. Electricity crackles up it, a barrage of blue sparks, and she’s moving to the third one.

A design trick inspired by Wonder Girl’s lasso. A personal favorite trick.

Number three’s armor is heavier, so it’s slower but much harder to breach. Possible problem. She isn’t exactly a meta, so she can’t just punch it, and it’s control panel looks to be more sturdy than the others.

It has a weak point, though. Everything did. She just has to-- _there’s opening at the knee joints, hit it at the right angle and it’ll list to the left, then go for the control panel--_ find it.

When the robot goes down, it goes down with a truly impressive bang.

Black Bat keeps her batarangs in her hands for a few moments longer, but when nothing jumps out of the shadows at her, she slowly relaxes, and tucks them back into her belt. Kosov’s office is most likely where she’ll keep her paperwork, so… Kosov’s office she got to go find.


	7. Chapter Seven

The Court’s influence is wide, if mostly unknown. Shadowy businessmen making shadowy deals is nothing new in Gotham, and without the masks, there truly isn’t anything unique about the court. They’re the same flavor of rich as all the rest, unremarkable when compared to the rest of the top one percent. 

It’s no wonder that they stay under the radar so well. Corruption is nothing new in Gotham, and when one is willing to do anything, it’s easier to control the narrative.

… For a while, at least.

There’s a reason that torture brings opposition, not compliance. A reason that the harshest regimes are the ones that go down in the most vicious flames. 

Humans have always been quite stubborn, and that’s not a trait that’ll change anytime soon. 

-

At first, Cass thought she had misheard.

“You’re joking,” she said, and Stephanie shook her head. Honest, but-- “You’re _joking_.”

“Wish I was,” Stephanie said, twisting in her chair as she turned to look up at Cass. She gestured to the papers. “Unfortunately, I’m not.”

“You’re saying that Kosov got it from March,” Cass stated. “You’re saying that Alexandria Kosov got it. From Lincoln March. The first person we talked to.”

“Repeating it won’t make it any less true,” Stephanie replied, but her tone sounded light, teasing. Cass sighed, rubbed at her temples. Because, really. Just-- _really_?

The ledgers Cass had… liberated from Kosov’s office were laid out in front of them so that Stephanie scanned them. It was better Stephanie than Cass, anyway. Even glimpsing at the paperwork was enough to make Cass’ head begin to ache. The handwriting was both small and in cursive. It was a nightmare.

“Yeah, Kosov sold it, and she definitely got it from March,” Stephanie confirmed. “I mean, technically she got it from a shell company, but if you trace _that_ company all the way back…”

“She got it from March,” Cass said, finishing the sentence for her.

“Bingo,” Stephanie said, then sighed. “Well, I guess we know what March wanted with Penguin, then.”

“Murder?” Cass asked dryly.

“Or something like it,” Steph agreed, letting the ledger fall shut. “Rich people. Ugh. Why do so many of them always go straight for murder when trying to solve their problems? Why can’t they just go and get, I don’t know, ice cream or some shit?”

Cass snorted, and Stephanie grinned as she continued. “I understand that they want the drama, but _seriously_. Enough is enough, you guys. Don’t they get tired of all the bloodstains?” 

“Servants,” Cass pointed out, and Stephanie groaned, throwing her head backwards. “Financial opportunity.”

Stephanie groaned louder, sinking down in her chair. Cass patted her head. “There, there?”

Steph looked up at her, exaggerated despair on her face. “Why can’t more rich people just drown their worries with a stupidly expensive bottle of wine?”

Cass shrugged. “Because literally drowning their worries costs less?”

Stephanie blinked, processing, but then she burst out laughing. “Oh my god, that’s _horrible_ ,” she said, sounding delighted.”Oh no, _Cass_.”

“Am I wrong?”

Stephanie shook her head as she laughed, and Cass felt her lips turn up in a grin. It took a few minutes for Stephanie to get her laughter back under control. Cass felt more proud of that than she probably should have.

“Guess we might as well let B handle it, then,” Stephanie finally said, once she’d succeeded in calming down. “This kind of rich guy conspiracy shit _is_ his scene.”

Cass nodded, because having Bruce deal with March did make sense, but--

There was something just out of reach in her mind, poking at her. Something she was missing. Something she should check, and--

Oh. Hm. That was an idea. A bad one, perhaps, but… an idea.

“Come with me to the manor tomorrow,” Cass offered. For a moment, Stephanie’s eyes widened in confusion, but then she grinned.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Stephanie replied, snapping off a salute, humor clear in her voice. “Are we gonna be exploring?”

Cass paused, thought that over. Smiled. “One could call it that.”

-

“When you asked if I wanted to go to a manor with you, I didn’t think you meant _March’s_ manor,” Batgirl said, disgust clear in her voice. Black Bat makes herself swallow her snicker, and instead turns to give Batgirl a look.

“Okay, yes, I know that the ledger you brought implicated March, but I didn’t think you were going to drag me here _immediately_.”

“Oops,” Black Bat said, utterly unrepentant. 

To be fair, Lincoln March’s house _was_ , somehow, the most unnerving house Black Bat had ever been in. And that was impressive, considering the fact that Cass rarely found any kind of environments to be unnerving in the first place.

After all, she’d spent too much time creeping through the night to be fearful of a dark corridor, too much time eating scraps she’d fished out of the garbage to find a creaky floor on the way to the kitchen to be any kind of deterrent when she was hungry. That’s not to say that she wasn’t ever wary of the environment, because she _was_ \-- she knew how quickly a storm could turn deadly, knew how snow could soak through ones’ stockings and how very hard it was to get warm again once that happened, but… that was the doing of mother nature. That was the environment outside, and the cruelty of the elements. 

It wasn’t a house, wasn’t _shelter_. Shelter wasn’t dangerous, at least, not inherently. Not to her.

March’s house, though, had her tensing up upon walking in. Something within her screamed _danger_ , despite the fact that they’d already confirmed the house to be empty.

“Black Bat?” Batgirl asked, concern audible in her voice, and Black Bat looked over, breathed in. Despite the fact that the house was as silent as a tomb, Batgirl’s alarm was only caused by Black Bat stiffening up, so Black Bat made herself breathe out.

“Something is off,” she replied, because something _was_. She knew it with a bone deep certainty, knew she was right about that fact. It wasn’t an immediate threat, but something was off, and something being off almost always ended up being some kind of danger in Gotham. So she knew there was some kind of threat. And she was very, very rarely wrong. 

Batgirl’s eyes sharpened at that, hand immediately going to her belt, where she knew Batgirl kept her collapsible staff. Batgirl nodded once it was in her hand, then jerked her head towards the right and the hallway beyond the entryway, a silent question.

Well, they _had_ come here for a reason. 

Black Bat nods in reply, and together they start to head down the corridor. It’s slow going, because is March has his place booby-trapped, Black Bat would rather not stumble face first into them, so they’re constantly stopping, constantly checking for some kind of motion sensors, or false walls, or trap doors--

She notices Batgirl stiffen up a moment before it happens.

“Move!” Batgirl suddenly yelled, alarm coating the word, moving to tackle her. Black Bat rolls with the motion, tucking her chin in as Batgirl’s momentum throws them backwards into a portrait, and--

It’s by inches that the arrows miss them, inches that only exist because the portrait gives way when they hit it and they tumble through it, crashing down onto a hard stone floor.

Secret passage behind a portrait. Right. That was unexpected. 

“Warm welcome,” Black Bat quipped, once the arrows stopped firing, and it felt safe to move again. Batgirl snickered as she rolled off of Black Bat, joining her in lying on the ground for a moment.

(Black Bat allowed herself one moment to mourn the loss of contact, then very firmly placed that train of thought into a deep, dark corner of her mind, to think about never again.)

“That’s one way to put it,” Batgirl said as she cautiously stood up again, eyes scanning this new hallway for more traps. Black Bat follows suit. “What _is_ this place?”

“Weird,” she replied after a moment. “Not on the blueprints.”

The hallway they were in now appeared to end at the portrait they’d broken through, so Black Bat focused on the other side of it, instead. In front of them, the hallway split into three different corridors, and somehow, light was getting into all three of them. 

“Should we get backup?” Black Bat asked. Because while they may have stumbled onto something resembling a conspiracy, there didn’t appear to be anyone from Arkham involved, and unless they’re fighting Killer Croc, or a whole warehouse full of mercenaries, having more than two bats was usually overkill. Of course, there was always the chance that they could stumble onto some kind of warehouse full of mercenaries, but-- that chance was always there. It was Gotham. Gotham was teaming with warehouse mercenaries.

But. There was probably magic involved here. And magic complicated things.

“Probably,” Batgirl said, grimacing. “I’ll comm Oracle, give her a brief rundown of the situation, and say that while we currently can handle the danger, we'd appreciate some help just in case the situation gets out of hand. Want to stay with me, or go on?”

Black Bat paused, considering. She _wanted_ to stay, but they were already wasting daylight, and Black Bat didn’t want to light a lamp until they absolutely had to. “Go on,” she finally said, “but I’ll stay within shouting range”

“Sounds good,” Batgirl said, pulling out her comm. “Good luck.”

“”Don’t need it,” Black Bat said, grinning, and shrugged when Batgirl sent her a look. “What? It’s true.”

Batgirl snorted, and made a shooing motion. “Unless you’re changing your mind…”

Lamps. Ugh. No. “Going!”

-

Coffins. 

Down the hidden hallway, there was a room full of coffins. 

Black Bat felt something resembling a horrified kind of fear leap into her mind, spreading throughout her body in seconds. She felt cold, like she’d been out in the Gotham winter without a coat during the darkest night of the year.

The coffins looked pristine, perfectly maintained. All the same shape, all made out of the same kind of wood-- or at least, they looked that way. There was no dust in this room either, nothing even remotely suggesting that it was abandoned or forgotten. No, this was a room that saw both frequent use, and recent cleaning. Which meant that March, or someone else, someone with a secret passageway leading into March’s house, knew about this room of coffins, and was actively spending time in it.

And there was one coffin open.

Black Bat started to move towards the open coffin, but then froze. What if-- but there wasn’t-- but someone _wouldn’t--_

No. No, she wasn’t going to find a dead body in that coffin, not unless they’d done something to it. Dead bodies smelled, after all, so while she might find a body, it probably would be… preserved, in some way. This room only smelled like stone and the faintest hint of polish, so it wouldn’t be a still-bleeding, recently dead, body.

That was-- that was something, she supposed. 

Black Bat crept forward, careful to keep her footsteps silent despite the apparent lack of others in the room. Better safe than sorry. Who knew how soundproof a coffin was, anyway-- if there was someone living in one of them, they could be able to hear her, despite the coffin preventing them from seeing her.

Actually, now that she thought about it, Jason probably knew whether or not a coffin was soundproof. He’d probably try to kill her if she asked, though.

The sound of footprints stopped her in her tracks.

“Black Bat, what the fuck?” Batgirl asked, and Black Bat spun around to hush her. Best not to wake the dead. Batgirl rolled her eyes as she moved towards Black Bat, but waited until they were right next to each other to speak again. “You should’ve yelled,” Batgirl hissed, worry evident in the tenseness of her jaw. 

Black Bat shrugged. “Not in trouble. Yet.”

“You’re in a _room full of coffins_. That counts as trouble.”

Did it really? Ah. “... You’re here now?”

“Why are you _like_ this,” Batgirl bemoaned. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

Black Bat sent Batgirl her best sheepish expression in response. “Back on track?”

Batgirl sighed. “Fine, yes, let’s go to the creepily propped open coffin. I’m sure this will end well.”

“Hasn’t killed us yet.”

“Point.”

Black Bat reached the coffin first, batarangs in hand. She peered inside, and--

There was a body in it. Not breathing, so, dead, presumably. A dead body wearing a similar, if not the exact same outfit, to the assassin from the gala. Black Bat frowned, and with the hand not carrying batarangs, she reached in to pull up the mask, disregarding Batgirl’s hiss of _careful_ from behind her.

The noise she makes when she sees the man’s face is not quite a scream, but it’s sure as hell close to it.

Because that was Dick’s face. His skin was too pale, too waxy, and his cheeks were too hollow, but that was _Dick’s_ face. This was _Dick_ , or at least it looked like him. This was _Dick_ , who was _buried_ , who should be six feet under, should be--

The body twitched, and she freezed, right as Batgirl’s hand wrapped around her bicep and hauled her back as it-- he-- Dick-- slowly _started moving_.

“What the hell,” Batgirl breathed as she dragged them back further, and Black Bat blinked, tried to think. Failed. Tried again.

“You called for backup, right?” Black Bat somehow managed to make herself ask, and Batgirl nodded.

“Twenty minutes out,” she replied, voice quiet enough that Black Bat could barely hear her. “I hit the emergency beacon when you screamed, though, so if it manages to get through, they’ll be here sooner.”

In front of them the body twitched again, this time much more violently, and opened its eyes. And-- 

The gold was new. The gold was very new and very odd, but the blue--

Cass blinked, and for a moment she was a child again, a child lurking in the library’s window, intrigued by the people within despite herself, wanting desperately to both go in and run away.

She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. This had to be a dream, or-- or a nightmare, maybe, and it felt real, but it wasn’t. There was no way it was real.

“What…”

Stephanie leaned forward, leaning in closer to-- to it, whatever it was, it wasn’t Dick. It couldn’t be. A shapeshifter, maybe? An illusion? A glamour? Whatever it was, she knew it was a trick. It had to be.

Except.

Except Stephanie wasn’t. Bruce wasn’t. Jason wasn’t. Kon wasn’t. 

Cass herself wasn’t.

“I think we've found another project of our mage’s,” Stephanie said, leaning forward to touch it. An arm snapped out, stopping her in her place.

Oh. That was Cass’ arm.

“Assassin,” Cass hissed, a reminder, because she _recognized_ that walk. She recognized that walk, that stone-cold calculation, knew it at a glimpse, and it was not Dick. It couldn’t be Dick. It just couldn’t.

Stephanie sent her a look too complex for her to try and decipher with danger _right there_ , but Steph moved backwards anyway.

“It’s magic that’s keeping him together,” Stephanie whispered to her. “The engineering alone is unstable. It would work for an automaton, but not a person, not if they wanted a human brain hooked up with it.”

Considering the way that the assassin held himself, the finite movements and instant calculation, a small part of Cass doubted that the man was truly human, but she held her tongue. Stephanie had more experience in this realm. Stephanie would know better than her. 

After all, it wasn’t Cass who had bimonthly appointments with Zatanna to keep her arm responding, and heart beating. Cass wasn’t the reason Wayne Enterprises had redoubled it’s research into prosthetic limb creation.

So if Stephanie said that this… being was human, part man, part machine, and part magic, Cass was inclined to believe her. Despite her own misgivings.

That kind of calculated thinking _could_ be taught, anyway. She knew that all too well. At one point in her life, she’d been that.

She didn’t like to think about that, much.

“Nightwing,” Stephanie called out, and Cass-- _Black Bat_ jerked. Right. _Right_. 

The assassin blinked at them. Planning. She could plan too.

“Nightwing,” Batgirl repeated, moving forward, and this time Black Bat didn’t move to stop her. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

Silence. Then-- “I am Talon.”

“Talon, huh?” Batgirl asked, which was a good thing, because Black Bat was having trouble breathing. “Well, I’m Batgirl, and this is Black Bat.”

“I know.”

“We haven’t always been Batgirl and Black Bat, though,” Batgirl continued, and Black Bat stiffened. She wasn’t seriously-- she couldn’t be--

“Have you always been Talon?”

She was.

Talon stared at them silently. Then, almost like he’s humoring them-- “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” Batgirl said. Black Bat resisted the urge to do something that was probably both reckless and extremely ill-advised. “Who you were contributes to who you are.”

Black Bat grimaced. She could see their gravestone now. _Batgirl and Black Bat, killed by an assassin that they decided to have a philosophical conversation with, instead of, you know, arresting._

Talon didn’t respond to that, and Batgirl spoke again. “Will you come with us?”

Talon blinked. “Are you owls?” he asked.

Batgirl opened her mouth, and Black Bat elbowed her in the ribs. _Hard_. “Sure,” she said as Batgirl caught her breath. “Follow us.”

“ _Black Bat_ ,” Batgirl hissed at her, but then Talon started to sit up, get out of the coffin.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Black Bat let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “He had the clockwork owl,” she whispered to Batgirl. “Mark of… ownership, maybe.”

Batgirl’s expression twisted at that, but she nods, reaches out a hand to grab Black Bat’s, and squeezes it once. It’s more of a comfort than it probably should be, and Black Bat breathed in, breathed, out. Thought about it.

They needed to do tests-- need to contact Raven, Zatanna, see what they think, ask Martian Manhunter if he can take a look. There was no guarantee that this wasn’t a very elaborate, very well designed trap, but--

But--

There’s a chance. A chance, and a _hope_ , that maybe, just maybe, Dick wasn’t dead. 

So after a moment of composing herself, a moment of planning and evaluating their situation and their next steps, Black Bat lets herself squeeze Batgirl’s hand back.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I hope you enjoyed!!!!
> 
> \- Come talk to me on Tumblr! My more-active, Star Wars Tumblr is [@coruscantguard](https://coruscantguard.tumblr.com/) and my comics Tumbr is [@navndyne!](https://navndyne.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Antecedents To Reunion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568531) by [gwenfrankenstien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenfrankenstien/pseuds/gwenfrankenstien)




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